


Scripted

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Crookshanks is the best wingman, Enemies to co-workers to lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forced Proximity, Love Triangle, Movie inspiration, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sexual Tension, the ugly truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 61,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22102063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: Hermione Granger is a hopeless romantic with a checklist a kilometre long that her future partner must meet. Draco Malfoy is a cynical, opinionated playboy with a less than positive outlook on love. When Malfoy crashes her carefully reimagined Witch Weekly after years of hard-earned prestige, Hermione is determined to prove to him that the perfect man does exist. Luckily for her, Malfoy promises to help her when a very attractive, very single Healer moves in next door, and he has a plan for everything—even when things backfire. **INSPIRED BY THE UGLY TRUTH**
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 280
Kudos: 409





	1. A Rock and a Hard Place

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there and welcome to Scripted! I'm so excited (and nervous!) you're joining me for this!
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER: This story was inspired by and based on The Ugly Truth with Gerard Butler and Katherine Heigl. Subsequently, there will be some direct and some altered quotes from The Ugly Truth.** Some of the story line will be similar, though I've altered it to correspond to the magical world. I also own no part of the Harry Potter franchise
> 
> Before we get started, I wanted to quickly shout out my two wonderful alphas, LadyKenz347 and mcal, for their help and encouragement on this piece. In addition, In Dreams and dreamsofdramione are boss beta babes, and I'm so grateful for their help.

**Chapter 1 -** _**A Rock and A Hard Place** _

"Morning, Hermione! Can you—"

"Hermione! You're looking beautiful this morning! Did you—"

Only seven in the morning and someone was already assaulting her before she'd even made it over the lift's threshold.

Today was going to be just _lovely._

A hand settled on her elbow, guiding her deftly between her employees and pressing a paper coffee cup in her hand. "Deep breaths—it's too early to yell."

Clinging to the coffee cup like a lifeline, Hermione strode across the office floor. "What is it, Daph?" She reached her office door, once again admiring the curling script across the gilded editor-in-chief plaque she'd had affixed to the door when she'd taken over _Witch Weekly_. With a wave of her wand, the locking charms lifted, a series of clicks and snaps prefacing the turn of the handle as she slid her wand back in her pocket. She bumped the door open with her hip, reaching a hand back for the folio Daphne held with a quizzical lift of her brow. "Well?"

"The letters from the editor came in; they're don't look pleasant." Folded bits of red parchment peeked out the edges of the folder, and Hermione couldn't help but notice the folder shook with the parchment's rage to escape its confines. "And Susan Bones wasn't able to finish the column on equal pay for women Quidditch professionals. Something about the League blocking her request for comments."

A dull throb began in Hermione's temples, spreading across the back of her skull as she mentally flipped through the issue front to back. "Okay, not a problem. We still have that article you wrote on the dangers of ashwood harvesting, right? The one about conserving Bowtruckle habitats?"

Daphne nodded, jotting down the sub on a pad of paper. "I'll have it updated by press time." With a few more flips of the parchment, making sure everything was in order, Daphne nodded. "That covers it. I'll get these to the printer." A wave of Daphne's wand sent the rest of the issue hurtling out the door and down the hall. She was left standing with a considerably smaller folio, a small grin lighting her features.

Hermione knew that look—the one that spelled more mischief than she was equipped to deal with—and she lifted a brow at Daphne while canting her chin at the folder. "Well, get on with it."

Daphne gripped the sheath of papers, refusing to hand them over before Hermione sat. "I've gone through the list of classifieds in the _Daily_ ; most of them are rubbish, but _this_ one…" A folded clipping of newspaper and several photos landed on Hermione's desk with a thud, sending a wave of paperwork to the floor. An apologetic half smile lilted Daphne's cheeks, but she waved her wand and stabbed the end of it against the paper. "This one looks promising."

Though she rolled her eyes, Hermione picked up the clipping, scanning the contents. _Single, eligible bachelor looking for a well-rounded conversationalist who likes wine and a good verbal sparring about potions ingredients and the current socio-political climate._

She sat back in her office chair. Well, that _was_ promising. Scanning the rest of it, she refused to show how impressed she was by the remainder of the ad.

Before her, Daphne grinned. "My exact reaction." She pinched her fingers at Hermione, indicating the paper, and Hermione handed it over reluctantly. "There's a Floo address at the bottom—looks like one of those rerouting addresses so he doesn't have to put his home down." Her gaze flicked up to Hermione with a salacious wink. "Smart _and_ single."

Hermione hummed. "But what's the catch?" Her hand dropped to the table's edge, drumming her fingertips impatiently. She hated that she'd stooped to trolling the bloody classifieds for a suitable date. "There's always a catch."

She drew back when Daphne let out a heavy sigh and dropped into the chair across from her. "There's always a catch because you always _look_ for a catch. Hermione, you're a desirable witch at the top of her career. You've got—"

"To loosen up and give someone a chance. Thank you, _Daph_ , for repeating the same thing you've told me at least fifty times now." Hermione waved her hand, flipping through the calendar on her desk to double check her plans for the day. "Davison will be in at noon; we're discussing the direction of the magazine."

The jovial mood quickly drained from Daphne's face, and the other girl drew her lip in her mouth, staring down at the red ink. "What do you think?"

Hermione steepled her fingers together to hide their tremour. _Witch Weekly_ wasn't unsuccessful by any means… but subscriptions had been dropping off lately, and she found that she was nervous to have an in-person meeting with their most difficult—and _only_ —investor. She pushed herself upright, a forced smile pulling painfully at her cheeks. "I guess we'll find out, won't we? No sense in dreading it. Can you prepare a report on our demographic? Particularly what's changed in the last renewal cycle."

With a nod of assent, Daphne stood, crossing the room. When her hand closed on the doorknob, she turned her gaze back to Hermione. "We'll figure it out; we always do."

A tight smile preceded her response. "We will." The door fell to a crack behind Daphne, and after a beat, during which she twirled a quill between her fingertips, Hermione called after her friend. "Daph?"

The clicks of her heels sounded outside the door, and when it opened again, Daphne poked her head in. "Yeah, boss?"

With a decisive snap, she placed the quill back on her desk. "Why don't you give that ad a call?" She ignore the sick roil of nerves in her stomach at the way Daphne's face lit up. "I have a feeling I'll need a distraction tonight."

* * *

Hermione loved her job. She truly did. Regardless of the ridiculous bureaucratic tape she had to deal with every day, the disgruntled not-all-men crowd who were louder than their protestations merited, and the subpar pay, she loved it.

What she didn't love was having to deal with Nyles Davison.

He was a narcissistic creep, and though he was mostly harmless, he used his money to try to influence the content of _Witch Weekly_ , a fact Hermione was more than a little perturbed about.

A rustle of papers grabbed Hermione's attention. "You see, it's just that… well, while our numbers climbed for the female eighteen to twenty-four demographic, virtually every other demographic has fallen." Daphne's lips slipped into a frown. "Print subscriptions declined to an all-time low, and…" She sighed, flicking her gaze to Hermione. "The mailing office has reported an increase in Howlers after last month's exposé on creatures' rights."

Nodding to herself, Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Davison beat her to the punch.

"So what you're saying is the magazine is failing." The smug lilt to his voice burrowed in Hermione's forehead, drilling her already irritating headache deeper. When he waved his meaty hand at Daphne in a request for the papers, Hermione nearly screamed.

She took a deep breath to bolster herself, burying her frustration as deeply as she could. "Sir, I know what it looks like, but you have to understand that these numbers are still an improvement over where they were when I took over." Slapping her hands on the desk louder than was strictly necessary, Hermione pushed herself backward, rising so she could lean over the table. "If you look at the numbers in review from this time five years ago, you can see—"

Davison tutted at her, pulling the papers out of Daphne's grasp, and a fresh wave of irritation crashed over her. Only a sharp nod from Daphne kept her from snapping. "I see, Miss Granger, but better than five years ago isn't quite up to par, is it?" He hummed, eyeing the stack of Howlers Daphne had piled alongside the conference table, some still lolling their tongues out as they lazily spewed the remnants of anger they'd been infused with. "In all my years as an investor, I've never heard a backslide described as a good thing."

Hermione's fingers curled in on themselves on the tabletop, a low ringing starting in her ears. "Yes, sir, I understand, but—"

"I don't think you do, Miss Granger. You see, I'm a businessman." He set the papers down, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he stared up at her. "I knew you were on to something when you said _Witch Weekly_ needed an overhaul; I even supported it." His lip turned up a bit at his liberal use of the word supported, as though he'd been anything but a roadblock as she fought tooth and nail to get it where it was. "Backslides mean loss of interest. And loss of interest means lost revenue, which means I won't be happy."

The ringing in her head grew louder, her teeth gritting painfully as she bit back the angry retort that sprang to her tongue.

A coy smile flitted across his lips. "You've had your time to make _Witch Weekly_ what you wanted it. Now, I think it's time some of my propositions were taken into account." He wrapped his knuckles once on the table and stood, extending a hand to Hermione. "It's time we brought on some fresh blood, don't you think?"

Reluctantly, she took his proferred hand, squeezing it harder than necessary to alleviate some of her frustration. "Sir?"

"You've done a lot for young witches, yes, but what about young wizards who need a role model, someone to look up to?" His gaze flickered with amusement even as she bit her tongue and forced her eyes to keep from rolling. "It's time _Witch Weekly_ got another facelift."

* * *

Hermione hadn't been able to focus since she'd left the meeting. _Witch Weekly_ didn't need another facelift. It was doing just fine on its own. What it needed was society to get their collective heads out of their arses.

A pit of anxiety had settled in the well of her stomach, inky black and distracting her from the paperwork at hand, so she pushed it away with a sigh. When she propped her head on her hands and stared around her office, her gaze snagged on the awards propped on her bookshelf.

_Most Promising Magazine for Young Witches and Wizards 2010._

_Entrepreneur of the Year 2008._

_Ministry of Magic's Social Change Award - Publications Division 2009._

_Hogwarts' Favourite Real-World Mag 2008._

Though the last one made her cringe, all of them were tangible reminders of how much she'd changed the industry in just a few years.

Across from her, Daphne tapped her pen nervously, following her gaze to the shelf. "It'll be alright, Hermione. Maybe we just need to—"

"Need to what, Daph? Abandon the principles we've established because society is too slow to catch up?" She cringed at the scorn in her tone, but she shouldered forward. "I don't want to compromise that because some arsehole doesn't believe in what we publish." Her lips flattened into a thin line. "It's not that I don't think wizards need a role model; you know my stance on the inherent toxic masculinity in magical culture, but _Witch Weekly_ has always been a publication for witches." The argument made her feel crummier than she already did, stuck between a rock and a hard place, and she sighed. "We've just worked so hard to give young witches a voice, to get out from under all that pure-blood dogma we've been mired in for so long. But…"

Daphne nodded, but when she looked at Hermione, her expression was contrite. "But if we don't find a way to meet in the middle…"

Hermione sighed. "We lose the magazine."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them as the clock ticked to five, both witches at a loss for what to do.

* * *

Saturday evening arrived too soon, and Hermione stood in the foyer of a new restaurant in wizarding London. Her date had chosen it, and though she cringed a bit at not being asked for any input, she supposed that was one of the perils of having her friend set up her blind dates. He was supposed to meet her there at seven o'clock sharp, but she'd arrived early to scope it out.

It was… nice enough, she reasoned. If one liked spending entirely too much money on subpar dishes she likely could have made better at home for a fraction of the cost. But it was his suggestion, and she couldn't help the side of her that aimed to please. If he thought it was good, then so be it.

She stalked up to the bar, eyeing the ostentatious decor with a slight grimace. It was all swanky blacks and golds, reminiscent of the charity galas she'd been forced to attend to schmooze for investments, and she wasn't sure she liked the falsity of it all. Instead of deconstructing the interior further, she sidled up to the counter and waved a hand, ordering a glass of Elf-made wine.

Time passed as she slowly drained her glass, and after ten minutes with no sign of her date, she crossed the room to the attendant, a young woman clad in expensive black robes and a sleek, blonde bob. The only splash of colour on the girl's face was a deep burgundy stain painted across her lips.

"Excuse me." She tried to keep her voice low, as unassuming as possible in case she missed him though still speaking loud enough to be heard over the restored gramophone strategically placed aside the hostess stand. "I'm meeting someone tonight. He should be arriving in a navy suit, quite smart looking, glasses… perhaps a bit built?" Hermione felt colour rise to her cheeks at the description, but that's all Daphne had given her to go on.

The hostess smiled blandly, lifting an arm to gesture behind her, and Hermione froze when a familiar voice bellowed over the elegant string music. "Hermione!" A Bulgarian accent, entirely too loud…

A set of burly arms wrapped around her middle as her date spun her in a circle ,and her suspicions were confirmed. Finally back on her own two feet, she turned to face him, the world wobbling fractionally as she took in his wide, toothy smile.

"Viktor? I'm here for—"

"A date! With me." The excitement in his tone was endearing, but Hermione couldn't help the disappointment that lanced through her as she took in his navy suit jacket paired with trousers that were two sizes too big and… oh gods, were those ratty old _trainers?_ He had the decency to look a little chagrined as he slipped plastic frames off his face. "I heard through Ginny that you were single and going through classifieds for a date, so I thought…"

When his words trailed off, Hermione pasted a smile on her face and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. She made a mental note to send Ginevra Weasley a _very_ strongly worded Howler when she got home. "Let's see what we can make of it, yeah? It's been a long time. The least we can do is catch up."

The hostess barely hid her eye roll as Viktor's laugh barked between them, escorting them to a table near the back of the room. The lights were dim, candles burning in its centre, and the music was drowned out by the quiet chatter of the tables around them. Hermione approached the table first, hoping that he'd take the hint and pull out her chair out, but instead, he edged around her, his hand far lower on her back than was acceptable in public, and he slouched into his seat.

With a sympathetic grimace, the hostess caught her eye as she lowered herself delicately into her own chair. "Your waiter will be with you shortly. In the meantime, can I get you a drink?"

Hermione declined, dipping her head to hide the discomfort staining her cheeks, while Viktor loudly exclaimed, "We'll have a bottle of your oldest elf-made wine. I don't give a nargle's arse about the cost."

Balking, Hermione snapped her head up to look at him. "Viktor, that's really not necessary. I'm fine with—"

He waved her off, stoking the embers of irritation that had been smouldering since leaving the office. "Only the best for my Hermoninny." He smiled like the mispronunciation of her name was their private joke.

A tight smile from the hostess indicated her discomfort, so Hermione acquiesced. "The wine, then."

Silence settled between them as Viktor reached across the table and took both her hands in his. After a moment, he spoke, his thumb swiping across her knuckles. "I know this isn't exactly conventional, but… I thought we might give this a try again considering how it ended last time."

Hermione didn't need the reminder. "Viktor, you _cheated_ on me, with my best friend, no less. That's not exactly the start of a great love story."

"Madam. Monsieur." Their waiter arrived with a poorly affected French accent, flourishing the bottle of wine before them, and Viktor nodded towards Hermione. She delicately raised a glass, allowing the man to pour a sip for both of them before she lifted the glass to her lips, stifling the gag at the strong vinegar edge to the wine. Viktor slapped a hand to his knee though, nodding enthusiastically, tilting his glass for more.

After filling both glasses—much to Hermione's despair—the waiter swept into a low bow. "Has the lovely couple decided what they'd like to eat?"

Hermione started, reaching for the list of dishes, but Viktor tugged it from her grasp. "We'll have the oysters." Her gaze flicked to his, horror rearing up in her as he winked over a sip of wine. "That'll be all."

Sputtering, she reached for her water, desperate to cleanse the vinegar out of her mouth and clarify her order, but the waiter bowed deeply again, leaving her fuming while Viktor leaned back, a salacious smile on his lips. Her voice was weaker than she intended when she finally said, "I don't like oysters. You know that."

Viktor wasn't deterred though, pausing long enough for their waiter to get a few strides away before he spoke, ignoring the tension in her shoulders. "You just need to give this a chance, Hermoninny. We'll be good together." He smiled up at her through his lashes with another exaggerated wink. "Besides, they're an aphrodisiac."

Finally, the tightly wound cord of her frustration snapped. She pushed the chair backwards with a harsh screech on the quasi-upscale wooden flooring, drawing the eyes of the other patrons. A harsh tug drew her hand back into her own lap. "Let's get a couple things straight."

Viktor blinked at her owlishly, all traces of joviality gone as his face smoothed into harsh lines she was all-too familiar with. "Hermione—"

She raised her hand, stopping him before she started ticking points off on one hand, the pitch of her voice climbing with each one. "You took out a fake ad to lure me here on a date after cheating on me with _Ron Weasley_ , of all people." Lifting another finger, she continued, "You know how much I hate people speaking for me, and yet you took the liberty of ordering me a dish _I don't even like._ This restaurant is dreadful, and— and you don't even wear glasses!" The last two fingers popped up in quick succession, and she applauded herself for lasting longer than the typical three strikes.

Hermione rose to her feet, tucking her clutch under her arm as she tried to smile down at him, painfully aware of everyone watching her. "I'd have gone on a date with you if you asked; I believe in second chances. But this… this is not the way to get a woman to notice you."

Head held high, Hermione swept away, the click of her heels drowning out his plaintive voice calling her name. She didn't miss the flicker of solidarity in the hostess' eyes when she stalked toward the door.

Dating was the bloody _worst._

But she didn't want to go home. No, going home to curl up with Crookshanks was a defeat she didn't want to admit, so she made her way down the cobblestone street, cursing silently to herself when her heel got caught in a gap. A wave of her wand transfigured the sexy black pumps into sensible flats she wished she'd worn to begin with. A sigh of relief gusted past her lips before she continued on, marginally more comfortable.

It wasn't that she didn't _want_ to find someone. It wasn't even that she had anything in particular against Krum other than tricking her into a date instead of confronting their sordid history head-on.

She just had such high expectations. Call it naiveté or hopeless romanticism, but she wanted a man that wanted her just the way she was: every last bossy, insatiably nerdy, driven bit of her.

As she rounded a corner, another diner came into view, the large glass windows lit from within by ambient lighting that made the whole place look cozy. Large, overstuffed booths were filled with couples, and she paused, watching the way one pair leaned into each other on the bench seat, laughing at something their counterparts said across from them. When she threw her head back in laughter and he tucked her hair behind her ear with adoring creases around his eyes, Hermione's heart clenched.

She wanted that kind of love.

The stay at home on a Sunday in their pyjamas kind of love. The love of a man who was career-driven, who could spar with her over new research, who didn't mind that she had a system established that denoted exactly where food went in the fridge and outlined how long it could remain there before it went in the bin. The kind of love that wouldn't care when she lost herself in her work and encouraged her every step of the way.

Shoulders slumped, Hermione carried on, making the long trek back to her flat. She could Apparate home, yes, but… she'd dressed up for once, and she didn't want to waste a perfectly good outfit on a night spent moping at home.

Wizarding London was pretty at night, the sky overhead charmed to show the stars despite the light pollution from the Muggle community surrounding them. It was tranquil and relaxing, and—

Before her, a door opened, the sound of muffled laughter spilling out onto the street, and she paused as she chewed on her lip, warring with conflicting curiosity and the desire to just go home. In the spirit of salvaging some of her night, she threw caution to the wind and ducked in the open doorway.

Mismatched tables littered the floor, but her attention was pulled from the decor when a familiar voice drawled at the front of the room, their voice amplified by a _Sonorous._ "Witches don't know what they really want." Light flickered off the speaker's white-blond hair, and when he turned to face the audience, a sneer worked its way up her lips.

 _Malfoy_.

"They play coy, teasing you until they've got you in their grasp before they back off. _Then_ they have the audacity to blame you!" The crowd—mostly men, now that she looked—muttered their agreement, though a few women sat watching with their arms crossed over their chests. "You know what they really ought to do?"

Someone in the audience shouted, "Get laid!"

Malfoy shrugged. "If the snitch flies… men don't want a woman who lives to point out his every little flaw. We want a woman who talks a little less and does a little more of this." He pumped his hand in front of his mouth with a lewd wink, sending another laugh rumbling through the audience, but Hermione straightened, tension returning to her shoulders as an angry flush burned on her cheeks.

Despite her better judgment, Hermione spoke up when the crowd settled. "You know, there are some men out there— _good men_ ," she amended, "who would be happy to have a woman who knows exactly what she wants and makes sure her man knows it."

On the stage, Malfoy lifted a hand to his brow, squinting out into the shadows. "I'll bite, love. What's his name?"

Her pulse stuttered, and she tightened her arms around himself. "Well, he doesn't have a name, but he's sweet and charming. He likes to read, and he loves to debate but is gracious enough to acquiesce when he knows he's wrong."

Someone in front of her scoffed, muttering under his breath, "Good fucking luck with that."

Malfoy nodded. "Are you sure you're not dating a professor? This isn't Hogwarts, love, this is real life."

Bristling, Hermione snapped, "Well, I'm not _dating_ him, but he's out there… somewhere." She bit her lip, already regretting speaking up when Malfoy slapped a hand against his leg.

"So he's fictional! Got it; you're ugly. Look, why don't you go back to your books, and we'll talk when you leave that fantasy world of yours." Another laugh echoed through the crowd, the other men jeering while the women looked on with vague expressions of sympathy.

She didn't wait long enough to hear the laughter die down, tears springing to her eyes as she stomped out the door and Apparated back to her flat, evening ruined.

* * *

When her alarm went off Monday morning, Hermione didn't want to get out of bed. When she tripped over her discarded heels from Saturday night, she _really_ considered Flooing in sick. And when she finally arrived in the office with a sour attitude and lacking her usual cup of coffee, she wanted to pull her hair out at what awaited her.

Boisterous laughter echoed down the hall, an irregular occurrence on a Monday morning. A surreptitious glance at her wristwatch told her it was indeed a quarter to eight, and she couldn't for the life of her guess who would show up to work before her other than Daphne.

Suspicion curling up her spine, Hermione crossed the floor to her office, trying to catch a glimpse of the intruders between the slats in her blinds. Nothing. But then… Daphne's voice, laced with begrudging amusement, rang down the hall.

After taking a moment to gather her files and straighten her skirt, Hermione marched across the hall, pushing the cracked door open. Just as she was about to greet her colleagues when she stopped short.

Davison grinned up at her, a piece of parchment clutched in his sweaty hands as he wiped tears of laughter away from the corners of his eyes. "Miss Granger! Just the witch I wanted to see!"

Trepidation a physical presence within her, she eyed him suspiciously as her heart hammered. "Davison. You're in an unusually good mood this morning." She settled into her seat, arranging her quill exactly parallel to her stack of papers.

Inexplicably, he stood, smiling jovially down at her as he leaned across the table. "I know how to save _Witch Weekly._ " The small part of her that had worried he was there to shut it down once and for all leapt with relief, but then she saw the glint in his eyes. "I happened upon him Saturday night, and, well… he's genius if I say so myself."

The piece of parchment he'd held landed before her, but Hermione didn't miss the pronoun that came with it: _he_. The parchment's surface was covered with tight, curly script, and though she found herself admiring the penmanship, the content immediately wiped the feigned smile off her face.

_Wizards want exactly one thing, and that's a witch who understands that wizards are a visual species. You want a relationship? Get on a broom and take some laps, engage that core, and tone up._

The writing went on, but Hermione dropped it to the table, disgust curling her lip. "What kind of utter _tosh_ is—"

"That, Granger, is called _quality content_ , and it's going to save your little magazine."

She knew that voice. Her hackles rose at the suave confidence in it, the swagger she could already see in his step as she turned around. And sure enough, there he was.

Draco Malfoy.

He lounged against the open doorway, a derisive smile twisting his lips as he eyed her up and down. She took the opportunity to do the same, assessing the vee of his tight-fitting t-shirt that showed off a smattering of light blond chest hair. Intricate tattoos snaked up his left forearm, and Hermione wrenched her gaze upward when he started chuckling only to find an appreciative glint in his eye that certainly hadn't been there before.

"What do you know? Little Miss Swot's all grown up."


	2. Healer Next Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, hi everyone! I did not expect such a wonderful response to Chapter 1, but I'm excited and a bit intimidated to have you all here. Thank you all so much for your love—I hope I don't let you down!  
> This chapter is one of my favorites, so I hope you all enjoy it!

_ **Chapter 2 -** **Healer Next Door** _

_ Little Miss Swot’s all grown up _ . 

The words grated on her ears, and she resisted the urge to crumple up the paper in front of her and hurl it in his ugly, smirky face.

But even as she thought it, a tiny, timid voice in the back of her head protested her evaluation of his face as ugly. 

And then she realised she was staring at him, mouth agape, while his grin grew larger, curling up his cheeks in the most attractive little—

“So, Granger, he’ll be joining  _ Witch Weekly  _ as a counterpart to your advice column. We’ll have to come up with some catchy title for it…” Davison mused to himself, snapping his fingers after a moment. “Wizard— nah, too cheesy.”

Finally, the gears in Hermione’s head started moving again; she turned to Daphne, who smiled sheepishly at her. “He’s really not all bad, ‘Mione.” 

Her hackles rose at the nickname, and she shook her head. “He could have the Minister for Magic’s stamp of approval and I still wouldn’t want to work with him.” 

His sarcastic drawl sounded behind her. “I could arrange for that; Minister Shacklebolt has been known to attend a show or two.”

The frustration built to a head, and she pushed herself back from the table. “This is ridiculous.” An angry blush stained her chest, but she crossed the room anyway, pointing at the vision board she’d painstakingly arranged for the new year. Almost of its own accord, her hand flew up, jabbing at the words and images tacked to the board. “Where does this… this misogynistic  _ drivel _ fit into the ‘Modern Witch’ we’ve identified as our target market?”

Davison opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione slashed her hand through the air. “Not done yet, Davison.” She could feel the stern pinch to her lips, a distant part of her utterly aware of how maniacal she looked pointing at the different sections on the board, but she didn’t care. “We’re supposed to be teaching young witches that looks  _ don’t _ matter. I’m supposed to just let Malfoy waltz onto our staff and undo all the hard work we’ve put into this?”

Daphne leaned her elbows on the table, her brow knitting as she offered her suggestion with a tentative upturn of her hand. “What if you worked together?”

All the colour drained from Hermione’s face as she turned to her friend. “What?”

Chewing on her lip, Daphne picked up her quill, twirling it between her fingers. “Davison is right; our target market has narrowed significantly, and with it, we’ve lost revenue.” An apology flashed in her eyes as she glanced away from Hermione. “If it saves the magazine, we’ve got to do it.” 

The tension in the room settled on her shoulders. Daphne refused to meet her gaze; Davison looked like he was mere seconds from pulling the last bit of funding they had; and Malfoy’s grin bordered on obscene. 

She felt the loss before Davison rose from the table. He picked up the papers in front of him, deliberately stacking them neatly together. Calculating pleasure glowed on his face, and Hermione momentarily relished in the idea of hexing it off. “Look, Granger, I respect what you’re doing here, helping shape the lives of young witches and wizards.” 

His sarcastic tone wasn’t lost on Hermione, and she rocked up on her toes to protest. “But if we—”

Davison shook his head. “You have two options: work with Draco or lose the magazine.” 

_ Lose the magazine.  _ The ultimatum hit her like a physical blow. It’d been the unspoken threat, the pendulum over her head slowing ticking away until it fell, ugly and final, on top of her. Her shoulders slumped for a brief moment before she straightened. 

If this was going to happen, she’d do it  _ her _ way or none at all. “Malfoy. A moment?” 

Bewilderment flitted across his face, but he followed her through the door when she stomped past him. His footfalls echoed hollowly on the carpeted floor, their even swagger enough to drive her mad. When she entered her office and propped herself up against her desk, arms folded beneath her breasts, she took several steadying breaths until he closed the door.

He was smirking when he turned around, and it took everything she had in her not to throttle him. A low whistle accompanied his roaming gaze. “I have to admit, Granger, I was wrong.  _ Very  _ wrong. If I’d known you’d grow up to look like that, I may have been a little nicer to you at Hogwarts.” His eyes settled back on hers, an unwelcome approval shining in them. “You’re not ugly at all.”

A wrathful chuckle barked out of her, and she stood, crossing the room until she entered his space. He had a good few inches on her, but she didn’t allow that to quell her rage as she poked a finger into his chest. “Let’s get a few things straight, Malfoy. First, you work for  _ me _ . Anything that gets published is approved by me or doesn’t go in. Understood?”

Amusement flashed in his steely eyes, and he dipped his head. “Understood, Granger.” Her surname was a caress on his tongue. “Anything else?”

She faltered, trying to ignore the intrigue that flashed through her when his gaze roamed lower. “You’re not to sleep with my employees; workplace romances are strictly forbidden.”

A smarmy grin. “Can’t help it that I’m irresistible, Granger. Witches like a bad boy.” 

Her eyes narrowed, a disbelieving scoff escaping her. “You’re not a bad boy, Malfoy. You’re a washed up Death Eater that gets off on making women uncomfortable and capitalising on their insecurities.” The angry burn that settled in his eyes bolstered her, and she stepped farther into his space. “I’ll work with you, but only because it’s the only way to save my job. Are we clear?”

Tight lines etched themselves into his forehead. “Crystal.” Jaw working, he eliminated the distance between them, his chest brushing her own. Her breath caught in her throat, an embarrassing gasp at his proximity, and his gaze dipped to her lips. “Christ, Granger, you’re wound like a top.” 

And just like that, the spell broke, and she reeled backwards, cursing herself. When she safely maneuvered around her desk, she placed her palms on it, glaring him down. “Those are the terms.”

Arms crossing, Draco followed her path, dropping into the same chair that Daphne occupied frequently. He crossed one leg over his knee languidly. “Agreed, then.” Hermione nodded, cursing Davison for putting her in this situation, when he spoke up. “With one amendment.” 

Apprehension bristled over her skin. “I’m waiting.”

A cheshire grin snaked up his face, and the knot in her stomach clenched tighter, coiling in her belly as she waited for him to speak. “I’ll work with you. I’ll agree to all of your terms and be on my best behavior… if you let me help you.”

That was… not what she’d been expecting. Her eyebrows rose into her hairline, suspicion racing through her. Despite herself, she allowed a laugh to bubble up out of her, mirth escaping her breathlessly. “Why in Merlin’s name would you want to help me, Malfoy?” She didn’t catch the way his eyes brightened, and she hastened to add, “Not that I  _ need  _ your help.”

He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head as he shrugged. “To be determined.” At her indignant squawk, he raised a brow at her. “If you want to save the magazine…”

Frustration lanced through her… and though she tried, she couldn’t ignore the way his shirt pulled up enticingly, showing off the sharp lines of a muscular vee disappearing…

Then Malfoy was leaning towards her again, unfolding himself from his casual pose and extending his hand, his abdominal muscles hidden safely beneath his t-shirt again. “What do you say, Granger? Truce?”

“You’ll start with an introductory piece that will be  _ heavily  _ vetted.” Her hand was moving before she could stop it, slipping into his larger, much softer than she expected, hand with only a twinge of apprehension. For the magazine, that’s all. “Truce.”

* * *

When she finally got home that night, Hermione’s nerves were shot. Sitting across from Draco Malfoy all afternoon while he made quips about wizards dating and shot flirty glances at Daphne was enough to drive even a saint insane.

He was just so  _ smug _ . Every idea she’d had for a column he’d countered with some ridiculous rubbish about being a single man in modern wizarding times. 

As she climbed the last few steps up to her flat, she couldn’t help mimicking him. “It’s all about the  _ looks _ , Granger. If a witch doesn’t have them, she’ll never catch a wizard’s attention.” Her voice was far more nasally than his, a poor caricature of the deeply masculine tone he’d matured into since leaving Hogwarts. She waved her wand in a small arc, unlocking the door and watching it swing open even as her wand slipped from her hand. In slow motion, she flailed for it, the sudden motion overturning the stack of paperwork in her hands and sending it crashing to the ground.

“Oh, bugger it all.” Dropping to her knees, Hermione tried to sweep the stack of papers back into a manageable pile. The slick proof pages refused to cooperate, so she reached for her discarded wand just before a plaintive  _ mew _ drew her attention upward.

Crookshanks sat on the threshold, his squashed nose turned up in haughty judgement as she tried again to wrangle the pages. His yellow eyes turned to slits, eyeing a piece of fabric that she’d tucked within the pages to mark where she’d left off in the office. 

Guilt descended on her like a lead weight when she realised she was late home—and therefore late to feed him—for the fourth time in the last week. She sighed, reaching a hand up to pet his coarse orange fur, when a slight breeze swept down the side street, sending the papers skittering down the cobbles. 

_ Merow. _

Her gaze snapped up to Crookshanks in time to watch his tail twitch, laser focused on the scrap of fabric beside her knee. “Crooks, let’s just go inside. Have a little snack…” 

His head tipped at the word, a muffled chirp escaping him in response. 

“Yeah, we’ll just get a little snack. You want some tuna?” She rose slowly, a hand outstretched in front of her as though she was calming a hippogriff instead of a three-and-a-half kilogram kneazle, but another gust of wind blew down the street. The scrap of fabric soared into the air, fluttering in arcs down the walkway, and Crookshanks flew past her, an orange blur as he took off after his prey.

“Shite.” Papers forgotten, Hermione reeled after Crookshanks, cursing herself, the wind, and anything she could think of for her shoddy luck as she raced after her kneazle.

His furry arse streaked down the walkway, bushy tail bobbing behind him, a flag she followed as he rounded the corner of her flat. She breathed a rugged sigh of relief even as a sharp pain ached in her side; around the corner was only one other flat and then the next building over, so she knew he couldn’t make it far.

Sure enough, as she rounded the corner, she caught sight of Crookshanks sitting on the unoccupied neighboring stoop, the piece of fabric held proudly between his teeth. 

Stopping with her hands on her hips, she laughed, breath gusting out heavily when two things happened simultaneously.

First, the door to the previously unoccupied flat opened behind Crookshanks, and he darted inside with what she swore was a triumphant smirk.

Then something wrapped around her waist, squeezing the breath out of her in a surprised huff.

“Oh, blimey, not again.  _ Lumos Solem _ !” 

With a shriek, the vines receded, and Hermione sucked in a grateful breath. The sudden return of oxygen to her head made her stumble, but strong arms wrapped around her, the heady scent of cloves blanketing her. “Whoa, there. I’ve got you.” 

Slowly, her gaze traveled up the stranger’s arms… very muscular arms clad in a smart collared shirt that accentuated  _ every last peak and valley  _ in his chest, and Hermione only realised she was staring when he set her upright. Sense came back to her all at once, and she snapped her hands, still clinging to his  _ very _ trim waist, back to her side. “Erm, thanks for that; I don’t know what happened.” 

Kind green eyes stared down at her, laugh lines spider-webbing out from their creases. “You’re welcome. Not the first victim the Devil’s Snare has claimed today.” He waved down at his arm, an angry red mark standing out beneath shiny, freshly-healed skin.

She let out a chuckle. “Honestly, who plants Devil’s Snare outside their flat? Must be mad.” When he opened his mouth to respond, she groaned, sticking out a hand. “And I ought to introduce myself. Hermione Granger.” She gestured over her shoulder. “Your neighbor round the corner. And the cat is my half-Kneazle, Crookshanks; I’m sorry he’s a menace.”

A lopsided grin lilted his lips even as his gaze flickered down and back to her face, sending a thrill of satisfaction through her. Even after getting attacked by a mad plant, he was checking her out.  _ Result _ . “Theodore Nott, though my friends call me Theo.” She shook his hand firmly, releasing it only to have him slide it behind his neck. A lovely rosy hue emerged along his cheekbones and the tips of his ear as he averted his gaze. “Lovely to meet you, Hermione, but er, you might—” His free hand waved at her front.

A frown pulled at her lips as she looked down, and then her heart nearly fell out her arse.

The deep scoop neck of her blouse hung low, nestled beneath her breasts. The position pushed her bra up proudly, her ladies on full, perky display for him in the cool evening air. To make matters worse, the plant slithering over her exposed flesh had sent a smattering of goose flesh over her skin, and her nipples stood at attention, their puckered tips obvious beneath the thin fabric of her bra.

Merlin, Morgana, and Nimue, she was going to have to move.

She wanted to melt right into the ground, have it open up and swallow her whole as he averted his gaze while she yanked up the blouse. Settling it in place, she cleared her throat. “Right, well, uh, good to meet you, Theo. I suppose I ought to fetch my cat and get home.”

Her words seemed to snap him out of his embarrassment as he turned a bright smile on her, gesturing for her to follow him. “Right. Little guy is quite the runner, isn’t he? While you’re here, I can give you some salve for the burn marks. Devil’s Snare isn’t the kindest in its hold, is it?”

The smile that she gave him was slightly dazed when his hand settled on her lower back, ushering her up the steps and into his flat.

Inside, boxes littered almost every surface. The only available places to sit were two rickety chairs in his kitchen, a box of takeout cooling on the counter. In one of the chairs, Crookshanks sat proudly cleaning his paws, the scrap of fabric nestled neatly at his feet.

Smug little prat.

Theo steered her forwards, depositing her in the chair unoccupied by her furry menace. She’d only just settled backwards with a deep sigh before she shot up with a hiss, hand flying to her ribcage where the Devil’s Snare had constricted tightly.

Though Theo had been on his way out of the room, he froze, wheeling around to crouch before her. “Where’s it hurt?” His kind eyes were all business, attention trained on the section of her abdomen she clutched tightly. “Can you explain what it feels like?”

Her breath hissed out of her before she answered him. “Along my ribs.” She removed her hand and gestured to them. “It’s really tight, but it mostly hurts to take a deep breath.”

Theo hummed to himself, lifting his hand. Just before it reached her, he paused, flicking his gaze to her face. “May I?”

Heart fluttering, she nodded, wincing a bit when it jarred her injury. Soft, tentative fingers pressed against her blouse over her ribs, a concentrated frown marring his features. After a couple moments of cautious prodding, he rocked back on his heels. “I hate to ask this given I’ve only just met you, but well…” He ran his hand through sandy brown locks. “It’d be far easier to assess the damage if you lifted your blouse a bit.”

Colour raced to Hermione’s cheeks, her ability to articulate anything lost when he drew his lip between his teeth. “I, uhhh—”

His mouth dropped open in an oh, a self-deprecating smile replacing it. “I’m a Healer, just hired at St. Mungo’s, actually.” He shook his head. “Probably should have mentioned that before I started feeling you up like a wanker.” The tips of his ears flushed an attractive shade of pink.

Some of her nerves drained away, and Hermione nodded, though she couldn’t help the flutter of  _ something  _ in her stomach when she dropped her hands to the hem of her shirt. “Mind if I—” She canted her head to the side. He nodded, so she shifted, breathing tightly as pain lanced through her again.

Slowly, she dragged her shirt upward, the cool air in his flat kissing her bare skin. Goose flesh that had nothing to do with the chill and everything to do with his gentle hands tracing along her ribs raced along her exposed skin. 

He mistook her sharp breath for pain, and he frowned sympathetically. “It looks like they’re broken. Damn Devil’s Snare.” He stood abruptly, walking away from her while she lowered her shirt and gathered her wits about her. “I’ve got a bruise paste around here somewhere that’ll take care of the external injuries. I’m afraid I’ll have to give you Skele-Gro to mend the bones.” 

Her nose wrinkled in disgust, but she nodded. “Is it necessary? Couldn’t I just—”

“Let it heal the Muggle way?” He cracked a grin at her sheepish nod, embarrassment deepening the colour already marring her skin. “You could, but it’ll be painful; ribs take a while to heal. I know the Skele-Gro isn’t ideal, but it’ll be healed quick as a whip.”

Disappointment was a blow to her ego, but she pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. “Suppose it’s a good thing I’ve a Healer next door then, isn’t it?”

His smile was blinding, the lopsided quirk of his lips an endearing trait that softened the sharply masculine planes of his face. “I’ll even assist free of charge.” He shook his head at Crooks, who looked on with an utterly unimpressed tilt of his head. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, getting your mum hurt like that.” His voice took on a high-pitched tone as he chuffed Crooks playfully on the head, ruffling his orange fur. 

Oh gods, he did not just baby talk to her cat. 

Her mind ran away with her. Late nights alternating flats wrapped up in each other, cuddling Crooks between them. Kissing each other after work, Theo still donned in his Healer robes, and—

“Hermione?” He stood before her, a quizzical lift to his brow as he extended the Skele-Gro. “Everything all right?”

She nodded, taking the extended bottle with a half smile. She uncorked it, plugged her nose, and tilted the vial back, grimacing at the tartness that assaulted her taste buds. Harsh and sulfuric, the potion burned as it slid down the back of her throat. Nose wrinkling again, Hermione handed the empty vial back to him. “That was revolting.” 

Even as she spoke, though, she could feel the bruises mending, stitching themselves together, and after a moment, she could breathe easier. Theo crouched before her, settling a hand on her knee as she drew her shirt upright again so he could rub the deep green bruise paste over her skin.

His warm breath gusted over her as he spoke. “This will likely stain your skin and blouse, but it’s the best there is. Got it made specifically for me by my old Potions Master. Sometimes it helps to be the teacher’s pet.” He cracked a toothy grin at her as he rose, wiping his hands on dusty trousers. 

Gods, she could practically hear the boxes on her list of ideal traits in a man checking themselves off.

She answered his smile with her own, the pain nearly entirely gone. “It does have its merits.” Her brow wrinkled as he transferred some of the paste to a plastic bag, sealing it tightly before he handed it over to her. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recognise you; did you go to Hogwarts?”

He hummed, shaking his head as he puttered around the kitchen, grabbing a couple vials of pain potion to add to the assortment of other vials he handed her. “No, though I was supposed to. My mother convinced my father to place me at Durmstrang; they wanted to avoid that mess with Voldemort, for which I’m grateful.” 

The jealousy that shot through her was not unexpected, but she tried to quell it just the same. “That would have been nice.”

Just as the words slipped from her lips, playfulness danced in his eyes. “You lot took the brunt of it, I think. Don’t think I didn’t recognise your name.” Heat traveled through her as they locked gazes. “Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio? You’re an international hero.”

The media’s nickname for Harry, Ron, and herself made her cringe, so she digressed with a grimace. “It really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be; honestly, it was mostly Harry.” Gathering her feet beneath her, Hermione stood, twisting to test her range of motion. 

Suddenly, Theo was before her, his green eyes gazing down at her seriously as he thrust a small cardboard box of potions into her hands. “I’ve heard the stories; you’re being modest.” His fingertips brushed overs hers as she accepted the potions. “I thought the escape from Gringotts on the back of the dragon was rather inspired.”

Oh gods. Words… she needed words to respond, but the way his cheek curled so delicately around his dimple ought to be a crime. Thankfully, Crookshanks chose that moment to squawk pitifully, and she whirled, potions in hand, to calm him.

“Oh, Crooks, I’m sorry. We’ve got to get you home so you can eat, don’t we?” she cooed down at him, intensely aware of Theo’s gaze resting between her shoulder blades. Her attempt to gather Crookshanks under her arm failed spectacularly when he flailed in her hold, worming out of her grasp and onto the floor.

With an accusing glare, he curled around Theo’s ankles, a baleful  _ meow _ accompanying his movement.

“Ah, come here, sweet boy.” Before Hermione could warn him of her cat’s arseholish tendencies, Theo bent and scooped Crookshanks up under his belly, depositing him upside down in his hold like a furry infant.

Her breath stalled in her throat while she waited for the inevitable. She expected Crooks to yowl, to swipe Theo across the face with every last one of his claws with human-like satisfaction, to dig his claws into his arms in a foothold to peel out.

Instead, Crooks nudged his head against Theo’s chest and began purring away like his life depended on it. Theo buried a hand in the thick fur of his stomach, scratching it gently.

Bewildered was an understatement, and Hermione blinked several times before she could speak. “He likes you… and he doesn’t like  _ anyone _ . Not even  _ me _ sometimes.” 

The grin that brightened his features made her knees weak. “Animals love me.” He paused in his stroking of Crookshanks’ belly, who immediately wrapped his paws around Theo’s hand and nipped it lightly until he resumed. With a chuckle, Theo lifted his gaze to hers. “Why don’t I walk you home? Seems like my new friend isn’t quite ready to say good-bye.”

His eyes flashed with a meaning that Hermione couldn’t bring herself to analyse lest she be let down, so she nodded mutely, leading him towards his own door. They exited one after the other, walking down the cobbles in relative silence until he spoke as they skirted around the Devil’s Snare.

“It’s nice here. At least, it seems to be so far.” She felt his gaze cut to her.

Small talk. Okay, she could do this. This was familiar territory. “It is. The neighborhood stays pretty quiet. Most of the neighbors are old retirees who just want a quiet place to enjoy some peace.”

Silence again. After a moment, he said, “These flats are relatively new, aren’t they?”

“Observant. They were built after the war. Vodemort razed this entire area. It used to be quite popular among Muggle-borns. Thankfully, they had long since gone into hiding before he made it here, but they never returned.” She contemplated her next words for a moment. “I suppose it just didn’t feel safe for them anymore.”

Theo caught the words she didn’t say. “But it does for you—feel safe?”

She allowed the sounds of the night to settle around them, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. As they walked, she glimpsed pages of her proofs caught in bushes, and she summoned them with a flick of her wrist, directing the parchments to stack themselves neatly on her doorstep. “It doesn’t feel any less safe here than anywhere else does anymore.” 

“Perils of surviving a war.” A sympathetic smile graced his lips as they paused on her doorstep. He leaned down, placing Crookshanks on his feet, and shooed the cat inside before gathering her proofs for her. He flipped through the first few pages, surprise arcing his eyebrows upward. “ _ Witch Weekly _ ?”

“How about we start over, no Devil’s Snare to mangle me this time?” Hermione grinned, sticking her hand out. “Hermione Granger, Editor-in-Chief of  _ Witch Weekly  _ magazine for young witches.” 

Theo’s smile matched her own, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. “Theodore Nott, St. Mungo’s newest resident Healer and your next door neighbor.” 

As her hand slid into his, Hermione felt a thrill of anticipation course through her. He held it longer than was necessary, his gaze snagged on hers.

Summoning a quill from where she’d discarded it on her stoop to chase after Crooks, Theo released her and began writing. “Here.” On the top corner of the parchment, he scrawled his address. “I’m just around the corner, but here’s my Floo code. If your ribs give you trouble, call me. Any time.” He settled the papers in her hand, lingering again as he stared down at her.

Hermione couldn’t contain the brilliant smile that flared to life on her cheeks. “I’ll do that.”

_ Merow _ !

With a chuckle, he released her hands, backing down the step. “Sounds like someone needs your attention. I’ll see you around, Hermione.” Hands slipping into his pockets, he backed away, one side of his lips turned up as he left.

“See you around,” she whispered, turning to enter her apartment. In a fit of inspiration, she whirled around, stepping back out on the stoop just before he rounded the corner. “Theo!”

He paused, turning on his heel to gaze back at her quizzically. 

“It was nice to meet you.” She felt colour rise to her cheeks and silently thanked Merlin that the street light wasn’t bright enough for him to tell.

His hand rising in a wave, he responded, “It was nice to meet you, too, Hermione.” 

Before she could do something stupid like ask him on a date, Hermione dipped backed into the house, pressing her back against the door while her heart thundered in her chest.

She had a new neighbor. A  _ cute  _ new neighbor. Merlin help her, but she hoped this didn’t turn out to be another dumpster fire like Viktor.

_ Meow!  _

Crookshanks smacked a paw against her leg, staring up at her with his judgy yellow eyes. On a sigh, she pushed herself away from the door to get him his well-deserved dinner. “Yes, thank you, you furry  _ arsehole.” _ _   
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without my two incredible alphas, I would not be posting this fic! If you haven't already, go check out LadyKenz347's _Flirting with Disaster_. It's an absolutely brilliant Teddy x Hermione that was just completed! You should also go follow mcal! She's in the process of writing a BRILLIANT Remus x Tonks piece that I'm SO excited to read.
> 
> In addition, my two betas for this chapter knocked it out of the park. I'm biased because I betaed it, but dreamsofdramione's _Collision Course_ is brilliant. Last but absolutely not least, go read In_Dreams' _Boardwalk_ to gear up for her long fic coming in the future—you won't regret it!
> 
> Thanks for all your love!


	3. Rule Number One: Never Criticise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! You guys just continue to blow me away with your amazing reviews. The love for this story so far has really shocked me, and I'm just so grateful for each and every one of you. Thank you so much for reading along!

**Chapter 3 -** **_Rule Number One: Never Criticise_ **

In an effort to avoid Malfoy the next morning, Hermione woke up two hours earlier. She dressed in her favourite blazer, a deep purple with golden buttons adorning the front, pairing it with comfortable slacks and sensible flats.

Perfect for a day at work.

After running a hand over her sleek curls one more time, she summoned her work bag. Another wave of her wand neatly arranged the finalised proofs within. She slipped the wand within the interior pouch and summoned her travel mug with a snap of her fingers. When it landed in her hand warm and ready to go, she smiled at herself in the mirror. 

Happy Tuesday to her.

As she was exiting her flat, she paused, eyes falling on the scrap of parchment she’d torn off the proof and stuck on her memo board. Theo’s messy scrawl stared back at her, and though she knew it was foolish, she grabbed the scrap of paper and tucked it safely in her bag.

Just in case.

In an effort to enjoy the early fall morning, Hermione decided to walk instead of Apparating as she normally would. The crisp morning air was invigorating, putting a refreshed spring in her step that she’d been missing in recent months. The city was only just waking, so she admired its sleepy productivity as she walked.

Perhaps it was optimism, but she couldn’t help thinking about the way Theo’s hands had lingered on hers when they said goodbye. Something about the way his eyes twinkled at her when he walked away still lingered in her memory. By the time she made it to the office, her shoulders had loosened and she beamed at everyone she passed.

Upon entering the office, she scanned her wand to summon the elevator and stood waiting, glancing up at the numbers ticking by. Other witches and wizards gradually filed in behind her, each waiting to pile into the lift to be dropped off on their respective floors. None of them appeared to be as awake as she was, though, all returning her eager bouncing with tired smiles and groggy nods. 

Just as the last of them filed in and filled the lift to the brim, the doors began to slide shut. Suddenly, a muffled shout outside prefaced a hand sliding into the open doors, stopping them in their tracks, and she rolled her eyes at the latecomer holding them all up.

And then Malfoy shoved his way inside. 

_ Bugger _ .

Given the lack of room in the lift, everyone shuffled, nestling together to allow him space to stand. Per usual, Hermione had sequestered herself in the back corner and prayed it would be enough to keep him from noticing her. The woman in front of her shifted forwards, though, waving Malfoy behind her as she muttered something about needing the next floor. 

_ Double bugger. _

With a coy smile in her direction, Malfoy settled in front of her, entirely too close for comfort. “Morning, Granger.”

And just like that, her good mood evaporated. She wrapped her hands together in front of her, a sharp spark of accidental magic jumping from the tips of her fingers as she forced herself not to hex him for his quirked lips.

Malfoy hummed a nondescript tune, rocking on his heels as the lift rolled to a stop. So focused on not hexing him, Hermione overcorrected her wobbling when the lift jolted, and she fell forwards, her clenched hands brushing against his arse.

His very tight,  _ well-defined _ arse. 

She froze, her hands still resting against his arse as she tried desperately to think her way out of the situation. But then he turned, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Granger, if you wanted to cop a feel, I’d have been more than willing to let you have a go at it when we had a little  _ privacy _ .” His words washed over her, doing absolutely nothing to stop the blush from shooting along her cheeks and up to the tips of her ears. “Feeling me up in the lift is absolutely  _ absurd _ .”

Two older women next to them tittered, leaning their heads together to whisper about young love and remembering the good old days.

Hermione bristled, shooting a glare at Malfoy as she wrenched herself back against the wall. “We’re not in love,” she blurted, gesturing wildly between the two of them. “He’s just a coworker with whom I work  _ very _ reluctantly.”

One of the women laid a soft, gloved hand on her forearm with a wink. “Whatever you say, my dear.” The women exited the lift together, shooting poorly concealed looks over their shoulders as they walked away.

Malfoy sighed contentedly as the rest of the lift emptied, occupants dispersing to their offices. “Well, there’s my good deed of the day.” Her temper rose as he tipped his head at her. “One feel for a desperate lady and a good laugh for the elderly crowd. My work here is done.”

Her head hit the back of the lift with an audible thud. “You’re incorrigible, Malfoy.” 

The smug grin in his voice brought irritation rumbling to the surface again. “That’s why the ladies love me.” 

If she rolled her eyes any harder, they’d fall out of her head and roll across the floor. Instead, though, she levelled a glare at the ceiling as the lift ground to a halt, signalling their arrival with a ding. 

Malfoy followed her across the floor, his incessant humming creating a low-grade headache just behind her eyes. Dipping into her office should have provided a welcome respite from him, but just before the door clicked closed, his foot shot out, stopping it. A groan welled up in her throat as she deposited her bag onto her desk. “What, Malfoy? What can I possibly do for you at—” she checked her watch “—six-thirty in the damned morning?”

Malfoy shrugged, dropping into the armchair across from her, and Hermione made a mental note to get rid of all office furniture so she wouldn’t be bothered. “I don’t have an office, and I’m supposed to work with you.” He raised his arms, gesturing around the office. “Seems like this was the best place to be.”

She would  _ not _ scream. It’d be unfair to alarm the janitorial staff so early in the morning. With a deliberate calm she didn’t feel, she unpacked her bag, arranging the prepared proof on the upper right hand corner of her desk when a thought hit her. “Malfoy?”

His head snapped up, eyeing her sudden change in tone suspiciously. “Granger…”

Hermione continued unpacking her bag, settling items around her desk so she could start her day. “Take that down to the printer, won’t you?” She bit her lip, fighting to conceal the smile. “Don’t come back until it’s accepted.” 

With a pop, his mouth dropped open. “Granger, that could be  _ hours _ .” 

“You wanted to work; here’s your opportunity.” She affected a contrite frown over her desk at him. “Isn’t that what you meant when you asked me to let you help me?”

_ Check _ .

Malfoy stood, gathering the papers into his arms. He was nearly to the door when he paused, tossing a mischievous wink over his shoulder. “You know, Granger, I meant what I said. If you wanted to touch my arse, all you had to do was ask.”

He was gone before the hex she threw at him hit the door. 

She managed two hours of blissful, Malfoy-free reprieve before he strolled back into her office. 

“Issue’s out to print, Granger.” Scowling, he threw himself into the chair. “I had to stare at Potter’s ruddy face for  _ three  _ hours. I ought to get a raise.” 

Despite herself, a laugh tittered from her. “It was only two hours, and good luck with that.” Reading glasses hung precariously from the end of her nose, perched there to negate some of the pounding headache that had started in her temples from hours of editing the miniscule print. 

Silence descended on the office as she settled back into her work, pausing over a sentence to debate whether an em dash or semicolon would be more effective when a quiet tapping began. It started innocuously enough, a background noise that she could have ignored. But when the floor started to tremble slightly, she aimed a glare at him.

Malfoy sat, his head lolled backwards and hands on the arms of the chair, rocking his leg up and down. His eyes seemed to move rapid-fire across the ceiling, and each bouncing rock of his leg drove her closer to exploding.

“Malfoy.” Nothing. “ _ Malfoy _ !” The rocking petered out, and finally his head rolled forwards. When he lifted his brows in question, she sighed. “What are you doing?”

In a show of innocence, he lifted his hands, affecting a small frown. “There’s nothing for me to do, Granger. I’m  _ bored. _ ” His lip jutted out, the feigned frown grating on her nerves. “I’m supposed to be helping you get  _ Witch Weekly  _ some new content; I don’t see much of that going on here.” 

She resisted the urge to yell at him, waving a hand at her desk. “You know what would really help me get organised?” A saccharine smile spread across her lips, anticipating the sweet victory of making him squirm already. “Help me clean up this mess?” Throughout the morning, her employees had shuffled in and out, dropping notes and articles on her desk for later reading. Now, it looked like an Obscurus had blown through it, no rhyme or reason to the precarious stacks of paper.

Jaw popping open, Malfoy leaned forwards to dispute, no doubt having crafted another way to annoy her while going through the papers. “Sure, Granger. Happily. Whatever makes your life easier.”

For a few moments, he picked through the random papers, stacking story requests together and discarding random bits of parchment that had been deposited on the tabletop. Finally, they worked in companionable silence, and Hermione mused that maybe, just  _ maybe _ , this might not be so bad after all. 

When he picked through the contents she’d spilled from her bag that morning, Hermione thought nothing of it. The only thing in there that held any value at the moment was the— 

The scrap of paper on which a Floo address was written, and at which Malfoy was grinning mischievously. “Granger, did you have a date?”

Her chair nearly toppled over as she shot out of it, but Malfoy lifted the paper above his head. Blood boiled in her ears even as a hot blush raced up her chest, the several inches he had on her putting him at a distinct advantage. Still she stretched up on her toes, swatting in vain at his hand. “Give it back, Malfoy. That’s personal property.”

Warm breath ghosted over her cheek as he tsked, waving the address above her. “It’s a simple question, Granger. Did you have a date?”

She bit the inside of her cheek even as she reached for the parchment again. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to tell him, and maybe it’d get him off her back a little bit... “Not yet. And I won’t if you don’t give me back the  _ bloody address. _ ” 

“Oooh,” he breathed on a chuckle, a low whistle accompanying it, “someone’s feisty today. It’s a good look on you.” 

The taunt did nothing to quell the embarrassment racing through her, but she refused to rise to the bait. “You said you wanted to help me, so you can help me by giving me the address and resuming work like a  _ civilised human being _ .” She was well aware that her voice had turned into a hiss, but she was beyond caring. Finally, she stamped her foot, glaring up at him as she stuck her hand out for the parchment. 

Malfoy only looked back at her, raising his eyebrows higher on his forehead. “That’s all you’ve got, Granger?” His shoulders slumped, raised hand drooping towards her. “Merlin, I’d have thought you’d—” 

With a deep breath, Hermione struck, lunging forwards to snag the address, but the combination of her sudden movement and Malfoy’s shocked withdrawal sent them arse over tit into the chair.

Her legs straddled his in the chair, both of them staring at each other with comically wide mouths. 

Oh gods, she was  _ straddling him in her office chair.  _

Surely this had to be a violation of some policy somewhere, some small print she could find to get him ejected from  _ Witch Weekly  _ so she wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore and—

WHY WAS HER MIND RAMBLING WHILST SHE STRADDLED DRACO BLOODY MALFOY’S LAP IN HER OFFICE.

She wheeled backwards, her legs catching in the openings below the armrests, and of course that would be the moment the bleeding door opened and Daphne walked in.

Silence reigned for approximately five seconds before Daphne turned beetroot. “I— erm, I was just bringing you an update on the Quidditch exposé, but—” Daphne floundered, unwilling to meet Hermione’s desperate gaze as she finally extricated herself from Malfoy’s lap. “It looks like you’re busy, so I’ll… I’ll come back later, yeah?” 

And then she was gone.

If the tension in the room was any more palpable, Hermione would have sworn it was a person. Malfoy still sat slumped in the chair, frozen to the spot while the parchment hung limply from his fingers. After a few loaded seconds, he blinked, his smarmy grin returning. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were throwing yourself at me.” 

Gods, she hated him. His stupid, too-straight teeth and ridiculously sharp jawline and every last v-neck he wore and the ridiculous fine hair that curled in the centre of it. “Not even in your wildest dreams.”

She pushed herself upright, strolling around the desk as he watched her, parchment still in hand. When she lunged for it, he reeled backwards, folding his hands protectively on his chest. “I don’t know, Granger. I’ve had some pretty wild dreams.” 

The weight of his gaze settled on her, and Hermione fought off the thrill that raced through her at having a man stare at her like that. It’d been too long, and it seemed it affected her no matter how sleazy or incorrigible the person. A brief respite seemed to be all she’d get from him, so she leaned forwards, elbows on the desk and resting her chin in her palm. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

He mirrored her position. “You said you haven’t been on a date yet. Why not?”

She chewed on her lip, debating the merits of allowing him even a modicum of vulnerability. But if it got her back that address… “I just met him last night. I didn’t want to come on too strong; besides, he already knows I’m a working woman.” 

Malfoy tsked at her, nodding already. “That’s your first problem. You assume that men are like women and meticulously plan out how they’re going to approach a date.” He raised the scrap. “You got this. That means he’s already thinking about how he wants to bone you.”

Her headache returned, and she dropped back in her chair with a groan while she reached up to massage her temples. “Believe it or not, Malfoy, not all men are insatiable pigs like you are. I’m sure it’ll shock you to hear otherwise.”

But Malfoy stood, rounding her desk to crouch beside her chair. Suddenly, the paper was fluttering before her. “You know what? Here’s your first tip for free, love: never criticise. Want a man to fall head over heels for you? Listening to your incessant nagging is one sure-fire way to ruin any chances of that.”

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. “I’m sure he can take constructive criticism if it’s meant to help him become a better person.”

Drumming his fingers on the back of her chair, he tutted. “You say constructive criticism; he hears all the reasons he has to change who he is.” He smacked his palm against her chair. “Alright, Granger, we’ll do it this way. Take this and Floo call him. When he answers, give him some bullshite about wanting to check his availability, then hang up.”

Confusion drew her brows together. “Why would I hang up?” 

“Because, love, if he calls you back, he’s interested.” He eyed her with a shrug. “No bloke just calls back a random woman who Flooed him and hung up, no matter how attractive he finds her.” He sucked on his teeth. “If he Floos you back, I’ll help you nail the date.”

_ Nail the date? What did Malfoy _ … “Why?” Her voice was coloured with suspicion, but she rose anyways, crossing to the Floo nestled between floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. 

Following suit, Malfoy stood, though he lounged opposite her, one elbow propped on the mantle. “Call it even. I’ll prove to you that my methods are useful, you get a date, and I get a job outside of a shady bar. Bonus points if you quit bringing up the Death Eater shite every ten minutes.”

It felt too easy, like she was getting far more in return for the deal. Then Hermione remembered Theo, his easy smile and his long list of credentials neatly checking off the mental boxes she’d created, and before she knew it, she shouted his address into the flames.

Several moments passed, the only sound the crackling of the flames and Malfoy’s fingertips drumming on the mantle, and she’d nearly given up when the distinct sound of the Floo picking up echoed in her office. 

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

In her haste to answer Theo, she shoved her head into the emerald flames, inhaling a mouthful of smoke. Immediately, she descended into a coughing fit, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she croaked out a miserable, “Hi, Theo.”

“Hermione? Blimey, you sound terrible.” Lovely. Exactly what she wanted to hear from him. “Are you alright? I could come through with some tonic—” 

She cleared her throat once more, thankful that the flames obscured the tears shining in her eyes from the force of the cough. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary! Just need to mind my surroundings a bit more.” The self-deprecating laugh she aimed for fell short, but she powered on. “I just— er, I wanted to say thanks again for your help last night. Y’know, with the salve and the potions.”

Theo’s throaty chuckle sounded, and he finally moved into the frame of the Floo. “Oh, you’re welcome. I actually meant to call and check up on you, but it looks like I forgot to get your Floo address as well.”

A thrill of excitement raced through her, and Hermione had to fight the urge to dance lest he notice. “Oh, right, well… this is it! My Floo, I mean. Well, my office Floo. The Floo that is in my office.” She was rambling. Oh gods, words were pouring out of her mouth, and she couldn’t make them stop, and— 

Suddenly, a foot nudged her in the side, and she jumped, pulling back just enough to see Malfoy staring down at her, his eyes bulging as he whispered, “What the fuck, Granger? Stick to the plan!”

“Hermione? Everything all right?” Concern laced Theo’s voice as she ducked back into the flames. 

She was sure her grin bordered on manic, but she nodded frantically nonetheless. “Of course! Everything’s great! My ribs are just a little sore today, and the burn only hurts when I move just right.” She paused, sucking in a long breath. “Anyway, I just wanted to see if you—” 

With a sputter, the flames disappeared, Theo’s head gone, and Hermione was left kneeling over the open grate. 

“What part of stick to the plan don’t you understand, Granger?” Malfoy’s finger held down the grate lock, the source of the dropped call. “You’d have rambled on for all of England if I hadn’t cut you off.”

Regardless of how true it was, Hermione bristled. “I was getting to a point, and you interrupted me! I was going to ask if he wanted to get dinner.”

Malfoy lifted a finger, stalling her tirade. “That’s where you’d have gone dreadfully wrong, Granger.” 

All the words she wanted to respond with died in her throat as she climbed to her feet, the only audible word through her spluttering a sharp, exaggerated, “ _ What? _ ” 

Malfoy retreated, hands tucked behind his back as though he was beginning a lecture. “Men don’t want women to ask them out, Granger. It’s emasculating.” 

“That is the most  _ ridiculous  _ thing I’ve ever heard.” She crossed her arms, indignation welling beneath her breastbone. “Besides, Theo’s not like that. He’s—”

“Kind, considerate,  _ different _ ?” Malfoy affected a high-pitched tone as he mocked her. “You just met him last night; you’re projecting.”

She scoffed, refusing to back down. “And now you’re the bloody expert on how to get a good date? Please, Malfoy. You wouldn’t know a respectable date if it landed in your lap.” 

His lip curled up in a snarl, and he turned, stepping into her face. “An Unbreakable Vow, then.”

Her mind reeled, struggling to catch up with him. “Malfoy, what are you—?”

His laugh huffed out of him, his sculpted pecs brushing against her in his proximity. “If you stop being so bloody difficult to work with, I’ll help you fall in love.”

It was a ridiculous proposition, and though she wanted to scoff at it, wanted to turn away and kick him out of her office on his arse, a larger part of her begged her to take him up on it. “I’m perfectly capable of falling in love on my own, thanks.” Even as she spoke the words, flashes of her failed dates flew through her mind, a highlight reel of depressing proportions. 

His eyebrows shot upward, once more mimicking her. “Of course! Everything’s great! Take me, Theo! I’m yours!”

She shouldered around him, clipping him with her hip as she resumed her seat. “First, I don’t sound like that. Second, I’m well aware that I’m not the most graceful conversationalist when it comes to small talk, but what I lack in wit, I more than make up for in polite discourse.”

Malfoy snorted. “I can absolutely assure you that no man is interested in polite discourse.” He lifted his hands, glancing back over his shoulder. “This Theo bloke sounds like an alright guy, but if you’re going to get any further, you’re going to need to take some advice.” 

Maybe humouring him would get him off her back… and maybe he’d give her some advice that wasn’t  _ entirely _ rubbish. “What do you propose?”

Apprehension grabbed a fistful of her belly when a sly smile graced his lips. “I’d be willing to stake quite a lot of money that the Floo will ring before this conversation is over; if it does, don’t answer it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbing her glasses and slipping them back on the end of her nose. “I’m sure that broom has soared by now, Malfoy. I hung up on him; he isn’t going to call back, and even if he does—”

The unmistakable ring of the Floo echoed through her office. Snapping her gaze to Malfoy’s, she watched as smug self-satisfaction rose to his face; too soon, though, his eyes dropped to where her hands twitched on the arm of the chair.

He’d blocked her way before she even made it around the desk.

“Don’t even think about it, Granger.” His tone was low and dangerous. He’d lost all semblance of the overly-confident playboy, and Hermione found herself strangely drawn to the deep edge to this new voice. 

It was reckless, and she had a feeling she’d absolutely come to regret making a deal with him, particularly one that would result in the imminent death of either of them should they break it. But the tiny voice in the back of her head that whispered for her to follow her heart chose then, of all times, to override logic. 

Desperate times.

The Floo cut off, leaving them suspended in charged silence until she stood, extending her hand over the desk while unholstering her wand from her hip. “It’s a deal, Malfoy.”

His hand settled into hers, the butterflies that rioted to life in her core a far cry from the reluctant acquiescence with which she’d accepted it last time. His voice was velvet when he answered her. “Deal.”

With a deep breath, Hermione lifted her wand, hovering it over their clasped hands “You know that you can’t back out of it until it happens, right? At the very minimum, you can’t sabotage me.” 

Malfoy nodded. “I’m well aware of the terms of an Unbreakable Vow, Granger.”

Slipping her hand from his grasp, she pressed the intercom on the desk. “Daphne, please report to my office.” She didn’t wait for Daphne’s response, instead watching Malfoy closely until the door clicked open and Daphne dipped inside with a wary glance between the two of them. When Hermione locked and warded the door with silencing charms, she finally addressed the other woman. “Daph, I need you to perform an Unbreakable Vow.”

Daphne’s brows shot up to her hairline. “Hermione, I— for what? It’s a bit unconventional for eleven o’clock on a Tuesday.”

Hermione couldn’t help the self-satisfied smile she allowed herself at the pinched expression of discomfort that flitted over Malfoy’s features. “Unconventional or not, Malfoy’s got his word to keep.”

Wide eyed, Daphne glanced between them, but she unholstered her wand anyway, holding it aloft above their hands. She cleared her throat, colour rising to her cheeks. “I, um… right. Before this vow can be performed, I need to ensure that both parties are consenting, legal adults.”

Malfoy and Hermione groaned in unison, but only Hermione responded. “We’re consenting, Daph. I didn’t  _ Imperio  _ him into it; it was his idea.”

When Daphne swivelled to him, Malfoy muttered, “Get on with it, Greengrass. I’ve not got all day.” 

“Right.” Daphne straightened her shoulders, waving her wand with a flourish before settling it on the juncture of their hands. “Hermione, whenever you’re ready.”

“Do you, Draco Malfoy, promise to help me fall in love?” His given name was foreign on her tongue, but she couldn’t help the tiny bit of elation that ran through her when he grimaced and nodded once, the sharp jolt pulling his grip tighter in hers. 

Daphne cleared her throat quietly, eyeing Malfoy through her eyelashes. Finally, the Malfoy heir scoffed, squeezing Hermione’s fingers as he responded, “I will, Merlin. Yes.”

The ghost of a playful grin touched Daphne’s eyes, and she turned to Malfoy with a nod. “Malfoy, your turn.”

The wizard flattened his lips into a thin line before his tongue flitted out to wet them. “Do you, Hermione Granger, promise to listen to my rules and advice for helping you?”

She’d stopped listening, though. If she’d thought his voice caressed her surname, it gave her given name an altogether different treatment. It dipped on the peaks and valleys in the syllables, lingering in just the right places, and she was suddenly  _ very  _ aware of just how tightly he gripped her hand.

A delicate cough drew her gaze upward; she’d been staring at Malfoy with her mouth agape, no more aware of what he’d said than if he held a piece of parchment before her to sign. With a shake to clear her head, she responded, “Yes, I will.”

Eyes wide, Daphne tapped their hands again, another brilliant flare of magic wending around their hands. 

Before Daphne could declare the end of the vow, Malfoy spoke again. “And do you, Hermione Granger, vow to let my Death Eater past die in exchange for my help?”

The words washed over her, the gravity in his tone unmistakable, and she found herself captivated by the intensity in his gaze. For just a moment, a moment she wasn’t sure if she imagined, sincere regret and longing passed over his face. But then it was gone, his mask of frivolity firmly back in place as he aimed a sharp grin at her.

“I will.”

A final tendril of magic coiled over their hands, the brilliant flash of it bright in her dimly lit office. When it disappeared, Hermione pulled her hand free, sliding it over her slacks in an attempt to smooth away some of the jitters still jumping on her skin.

“Well then, Granger.” Malfoy smiled wolfishly at her. “Let’s get this party started.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mega thanks to my lovely alphas mcal and LadyKenz347. A HUGE plug to my stellar beta In_Dreams, who just posted the first chapter of her new (and incredible) multichapter Nocturnus! Run, don't walk, to read this wonderful piece. You absolutely will not regret it (and I am not just biased because I'm betaing for her too lol).


	4. Rule Number Two: Laugh at Whatever He Says

**Chapter 4 - _Rule Number Two: Laugh at Whatever He Says_**

**Author Note:** This chapter includes a direct line from the Ugly Truth. I am not profiting off this piece of fiction in any way; the dialogue is the sole property of Sony/Columbia Pictures. Basically, I’m just having fun and am too poor to sue lol (so please don’t).

* * *

Hermione prided herself on her work ethic. She showed up early, often stayed late, and did her best to make sure everything worked out exactly the way it was supposed to. Planners were her best friend, and checklists made her feel like she had everything together even when she didn’t.

So when Malfoy barged in Friday morning after days of radio silence and upended her whole schedule, Hermione had to resist the urge to pull her hair out.

He’d done his hair. How utterly ridiculous of her to note, but she couldn’t help but notice that he’d swept the wispy front bits of it that usually fell into his eyes into a neat coiffe, not a hair out of place. He still sported his trademark v-neck and relaxed trousers, but he’d tucked the shirt’s hem in and donned a belt. He’d traded his trainers for a nice pair of dragonhide boots.

It felt wrong to linger on his appearance, but even she could admit that he looked good.

“C’mon, Granger. I’ve got you sprung from your office for the day.” He crooked his finger at her as he swaggered towards her desk. A snap of his fingers had her coat flying across the room. When it landed in his hands, he shook it open, holding it aloft as though he would help her into it.

That was… suspicious. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Malfoy?” She tapped the stack of parchment in front of her. “This has to be copyread before the end of the day; there’s no way I’ll make it out of here before six.”

He shook his head again. “Nope, you’re coming with me.” Behind him, the door swung open; Daphne breezed into the room, a wide smile on her face. “She’ll be taking care of that.”

Hermione’s jaw popped open, staring at them in disbelief as they shared a conspiratorial wink. “Daphne, what are you—”

But the other girl sidled up beside her, gently nudging her away with a bump of her hip. “You work too hard; I’m just trying to take a little bit of the load off your plate.” 

Her hands coiled into petulant fists at her side, lips pulling simultaneously into a pout. “Daph, I don’t _want_ anything off my plate. I’m happy having a full schedule; you know that.” 

On a sigh, Daphne directed a glance at Malfoy. “If you’ll excuse us?” The other woman grabbed her by the shoulders, steering her towards the window of her office. “Hermione, all you do is work. You never have fun; you come to work, and you go home.”

Indignation bristled up Hermione’s spine. “That’s not true! I also—” 

“Spend time with your cat? Interview individuals for the column?” Daphne's brows pulled into a sympathetic pinch. “Take a chance on what Malfoy is offering you. He’s really pretty decent.”

Scoffing, Hermione shrugged Daphne’s hands off her shoulders. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Her friend smiled softly up at her. “And you won’t see it unless you give him a chance.” She canted her head at Draco. “Look at him. He’s here, in your office, making an effort to help you. He doesn’t have to give us anything; he didn’t have to offer to step in to save _Witch Weekly_ , especially not after you lambasted him in the conference room.” The accusation in her tone stung, and Hermione flinched under it. “Give him a chance. He might surprise you.”

Following her gaze, Hermione studied Malfoy. He stood staring at her framed awards adorning the far wall, her coat folded carefully over his arm. The Unbreakable Vow tingled on her arm, an uncomfortably warm sensation that he must have felt too, judging by the way he absently rubbed at his wrist. Sighing, Hermione turned back to her friend. “Alright. But he’d better be on his best behaviour.” 

Daphne lit up, grabbing her by the hand, and pulled her towards Malfoy. “Alright then, Draco, it’s all arranged. You take Hermione to do whatever it is you need, and I’ll work on the next issue.” Daphne paused by the desk, scooping up a stack of papers and eyeing it critically. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office buried under this mountain of papers with my nose stuck in the style guide.” With that, Daphne was gone, the door falling shut behind her.

Malfoy perked up instantaneously, once more holding Hermione’s coat aloft before her. “I knew you’d come around, Granger.” 

Begrudgingly, Hermione stepped forward, sliding her right arm into its corresponding sleeve. She turned, dipping low to settle comfortably into the warmth of the peacoat, but Malfoy shifted. His hand that held the other shoulder up for her brushed across the nape of her neck. Gooseflesh sprang to life in the wake of the ghost of a touch, and they froze.

His breath gusted over her shoulder, the baby hairs on the back of her neck rising to attention. Nerves raced down her spine and grabbed a fistful of her stomach, and she swallowed hard as her heart flip-flopped. Slowly, she looked up from beneath her lashes, breath catching in her throat as Malfoy’s eyes traced the lines of her cheekbones and jaw, following along her throat until it disappeared into her blouse and then his eyes flashed back up to hers, twinkling.

“Shall we?” 

The rough baritone of his voice, slightly deeper and more alluring than it already was, jolted her from her stupor. “Right,” she scoffed, shaking off whatever that look in his eyes made her feel. Maybe if she refused to acknowledge it, the feeling would die off on its own. “Since you’re bound and determined to make today as unproductive for me as possible, we may as well get started.”

“Good.” He held his arm out, and she begrudgingly slipped hers into it. With a charming smile, Malfoy pulled her towards the door.

When they exited the office, Dennis Creevey waved from his cubicle, shouting something to Draco about getting a photo pass for an event to Parkinson Fashion, but the wizard didn’t stop. He pulled her to the lift as he summoned his own coat, shrugging it on while they waited.

* * *

She settled beside him at the counter in the Leaky Cauldron, running her fingers over the rim of her drink. “So what are we doing here?”

Malfoy took a generous drink of his Firewhisky, sighing as he settled it back on the countertop. “We’re meeting someone.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. Cradling her own glass in her fingertips, Hermione let her gaze travel over the patrons. It was rather empty so early in the day, even for a Friday. “Who?”

Her shoulder itched, an almost physical presence where she could feel his gaze fall on her. He leaned into her, invading her space. “An old friend.” She turned back to him, eyeing the way he sipped his drink delicately. After a moment, he continued. “Rule number two, Granger. Laugh at whatever he says. Even if it’s not funny.”

A disbelieving laugh welled up in her almost immediately, eyeing the way his mouth pulled into a serious, flat line. “You’re kidding, right?” When he didn’t respond, she set her glass back on the counter. “You can’t be serious. I’m just supposed to laugh like a… like a floozy who wants to get laid?”

Malfoy canted his head to the side. “Well, you _do_ want to get laid—”

“Hey!” she retorted.

“But I wouldn’t call you a floozy. Besides—” he drawled, running a condescending finger along the underside of her jaw. “Calling another woman a floozy for wanting to have consensual sex isn’t very Modern Witch of you, is it?”

She sucked her teeth before granting him a tight smile. Why was the bugger always so smug when he was right? With a haughty tilt of her jaw, she refused to answer him; she’d be damned if she was going to give him a single centimetre.

He slid off his stool, turning to face the open floorplan of the bar and leaning his elbows back on the countertop. “You’re stiff, Granger. You walk around with a stick up your arse and have to be right about _everything_ all the time.” 

Sure enough, her shoulders tightened defensively and her jaw popped open, immediately losing the defiant air she’d summoned. “I do not!”

He tsked, a grimace twisting his lips. “You do. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard a genuine laugh from you in the last week. Merlin, I could probably count on one _finger_ how many times I’ve heard you laugh and mean it.”

She frowned, thinking over the last few days. A sinking feeling in her chest told her that he was right. Deflating, she glanced up at him. “I’m just… stressed is all. Work is a lot, and I want to make sure _Witch Weekly_ is good. I don’t want to lose it.” 

“I understand that.” He reached for his glass, taking another generous drink before continuing. “But it isn’t your whole life. Or it shouldn’t be.” When he nudged her shoulder with his, it was almost friendly. “You’re a catch, Granger, but no one wants to be around a Negative Nelly all the time. Lighten up. Laugh a little bit. Have some _fun.”_ A mischievous grin met her gaze when she looked up at him. “I promise it won’t kill you.”

And despite herself, she chuckled a little, the tension falling away from her shoulders. “Alright, I’ll give it a go.” 

Malfoy chuffed her shoulder again, smiling down at her. “See, I told you it wasn’t that hard!” Then he cocked his head, smiling over his shoulder. “And we have company.”

Hermione wasn’t sure who to expect when she turned on the stool, but her jaw nearly fell to the floor when Blaise Zabini strolled up, arm thrown over Ginny Weasley’s shoulder. “ _Ginny_?” 

The redhead cracked a smile at her, sidling up to the bar and ordering a drink as she wrapped one arm around Hermione in a hug. “Hey, ‘Mione. It’s been too long.” 

Blinking owlishly at her friend’s sister, Hermione struggled to find words. Finally, she settled on, “You’re dating _Zabini_?” 

Ginny lifted a shoulder as she accepted her drink and threw a handful of coins on the counter. “Dating is a strong word.” 

Eyebrows raised, Hermione stared at the other witch. “And _what_ would be the accurate phrasing?”

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly Zabini was crowding between them, settling his elbow on the bar as he appraised her. “You’re a ‘Modern Witch’, Granger. Surely you’ve engaged in a casual lay or two in your life.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You don’t have to put a label on it just because you bone.”

Despite herself, she huffed out a laugh. He wasn’t wrong; she had engaged in a hookup or two in her adult life—she had to let off some steam _somehow_ , and it was generally frowned upon to hex whoever made her mad. An annoying voice nagged in the back of her mind that she’d proved Malfoy right again. “I just don’t generally find myself engaging in a midday drink with my casual shag.” 

Malfoy settled on her other side, his arm sliding comfortably behind her. “See, you’re already well on your way with rule number two. What do you say we grab a table?” He unfolded himself from his slouch against the bar, the hand behind her back guiding her with him.

Behind her, Zabini ordered another round followed by a muffled clap and laughter from Ginny. If Hermione didn’t know better, she’d say the other man slapped her friend’s arse.

_Men_. 

Malfoy guided her deftly through the tables littering the floor, quiet chatter filling the room despite the early hour. Despite how boorish he was, Malfoy’s hand stayed at a respective level, and he even waved his wand with a muttered _Scourgify_ to siphon any remaining germs off the surface thought it already looked pristine in the early hour.

The action shouldn’t have been as impressive as she found it.

And then a hand was floating in front of her face. “Blaise Zabini, Granger. Thought we ought to reintroduce ourselves after all that troublesome war business.” For a moment, he had the decency to look chagrined, but when her hand settled in his, she felt his gaze slide down her body. “Draco really wasn’t kidding when he said you grew up.”

Hermione braced herself for a crass comment, but Malfoy’s gaze had slid past her, settling on a tall, raven-haired witch leaning low over the bar. Long lashes framed her deep brown eyes, the light illuminating them like pools of chocolate. Appreciation settled into every line of Malfoy’s face as he tossed a wink in the woman’s direction, crooking a finger at the bartender to send a drink sliding down the bar to her.

Jealousy settled deep in Hermione’s stomach even as she fought the feeling. They were different people; it was ridiculous to be jealous of another woman because they didn’t look the same. And even as Malfoy turned his attention back to her, Hermione was bristling. “What I look like has nothing to do with my ability to land a date or not.” She could feel the petulant puckering of her brow even as she took a swig of her drink.

Malfoy tsked, his hand settling behind her again. “Granger, you’re a smart girl; surely you understand that looks have to play a role in attraction.”

Huffing, she took another, larger sip of her drink. “Sure, if you’re into shallow connections and one night stands, then by all means just go for looks.” The Firewhisky burned down her throat, and a tiny voice in the back of her mind told her to slow down lest she imbibe too much before they made it back to the office. “I’d rather be able to have an intelligent conversation as well as enjoy the way a person looks.”

Blaise’s eyes opened comically wide as he pointed at her. “Ah! But you admit that you have to be _somewhat_ physically attracted to him.” 

Malfoy’s arm tightened around her shoulder then slid down her arm to lightly caress the expanse of wrist exposed below the rolled fabric of her blazer. His warm touch sent goosebumps skittering in their wake, and she swallowed harshly before she spoke. “ _All_ I’m saying is that looks aren’t everything.” 

“Right.” Suddenly, Malfoy was wrenching her upright and standing her before Blaise and Ginny. His hands were rough on her hips as he towered over her shoulder, speaking into her ear in low, gravelly tones. “Keep in mind I’m doing this to help you, Granger.”

The vestiges of the magic that had seared into her wrist the previous day grew warm, and she nodded reluctantly at the truth of his words.

“Right, then.” Suddenly, his hands slid upward as Blaise and Ginny peered at her. “You’ve got the laughing down, Granger. You know just when to titter at the jokes, and I’ll give you that your wit is sharp enough to cut a man.” The compliment brought a grin to her lips that she forced away. “But what you lack is confidence.”

She straightened, throwing an incredulous look over her shoulder at him. “I beg your pardon? I do not lack confidence!”

In the booth, Ginny leaned forward. “He’s right, Hermione. You haven’t done anything for yourself in years. You’re always so…” Ginny paused, biting down harshly on her lip before whispering, “ _uptight_.” 

Red. Hermione saw red as she glared down her ex-boyfriend’s sister. “I am _not_ uptight! I’m driven; I go to work and go home and work some more. I don’t have time to maintain a relationship.” 

But Malfoy’s hand was on her hip again, the other resting in the centre of her spine. “Stand up straight.”

Rage boiled in her core as she involuntarily followed his demand, and Blaise laughed quietly. “Granger, you’re a babe. Own it. _Embrace_ it.” His gaze roved her body as his arm wrapped around Ginny. “There are many wizards who would give anything to have you in their bed.”

The comment was… unorthodox, but Hermione found herself preening under it before she narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not doing this just to get laid, Zabini. I want…” 

“Love.” It washed over her in a quiet exhale, Malfoy’s breath sending the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention for the second time. His grip on her hip tightened as he stepped into her space, his back pressed to her front. “Look around; there are lots of wizards in here today.”

Captivated, her eyes roamed the room, catching on several men who watched their interaction. Jealousy shone in the depths of some of their gazes, and a tiny part of her she hated to acknowledge preened at the attention. But then reality came crashing back as Malfoy squeezed her hip. “But I don’t want superficial attention; I want to fall in love.”

She sounded plaintive to her own ears, but that was the truth of it. That was why she was here, with Malfoy, in a bar and two whiskys deep on a Friday. That was why she was even giving him the benefit of the doubt in the first place, why she was avoiding the nagging voice in her mind that told her he had yet to actually write anything of considerable contribution to _Witch Weekly_. 

But Malfoy’s voice brought her back to herself, to the bar, to their goal. “And you will, but you have to embrace what you’ve got. No man is going to want a woman who doesn’t own what she’s got.” And then his tone turned salacious, and she could nearly hear the waggle of his brows. “Because at the end of the day, all we’re interested in is looks. No one falls in love with your personality at first sight.”

With a sigh of disgust, she broke from his embrace, snatching up her glass of whisky and drowning it in one go. “So what you’re telling me is that I need to change everything about who I am to get Theo to like me. Forgive me if that doesn’t sound like the most stellar plan in the world.”

She slumped back in her seat even as Malfoy shrugged and crossed the bar to the brunette he’d been eyeing earlier. 

When Hermione heard her tinkling laughter filter through the air as Malfoy wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered something undoubtedly filthy in her ears, Hermione rolled her eyes, sinking further in her chair. 

A wave of her hand summoned another whisky from the bartender, and she tried to ignore the way Ginny and Blaise canoodled together on the other side of the bench.

When the other witch settled a scrap of bar napkin in Draco’s hand and a flirty kiss on his cheek, Hermione downed the rest of the whisky.

She’d definitely made a mistake.

* * *

When they arrived back in the office, Hermione went straight to her desk, kicking her kitten heels off inside the doorway. The objects in her office held a faint shimmering hue around them that hadn’t been there before, and that was when she realised she was well and truly pissed.

At work. At one o’clock on a Friday. 

Bugger.

Settling into her desk chair proved difficult, the tight fit of her pencil skirt obstructing her movement, and she abandoned all hope of lowering herself gracefully into the desk and instead chose to flop into it, hands going up to shield her eyes.

Merlin, when had the lights in here gotten so bright.

“Granger, I’d be worried you were a drunk if I didn’t know better.” Malfoy’s dry sarcasm was a battering ram to her already fuzzy head, and she leaned back, praying to every deity that was listening to make the ceiling stop spinning and send him away.

When the insistence of his gaze didn’t leave her, she canted her head down. There he was, leaning casually against the closed door of her office, in his too-tight jeans and that stupid, charming smirk.

Bugger Draco Bloody Malfoy.

With a quiet hiccup, she raised her hand, levelling a finger at him. “This is all your fault.” 

Blond brows shot upward, landing somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline. “You’re the one that downed four firewhiskies in an hour; it’s not as though I held a wand to your head and threatened you with an Unforgivable.” 

She pouted, knowing full well that he was right. “Well if you hadn’t gone on pointing out my flaws to your friends, maybe I wouldn’t feel so bloody foolish.”

Rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw, he nodded, crossing the room in a slow prowl. “So what you’re saying is that I embarrassed you.”

Scoffing, she stared up at him. “You’re bloody right! You made a fool out of me.” Another hiccup. “We need to write this blasted column.” 

Malfoy nodded, slumping into the chair across from her with a salacious smile as he allowed the change of subject. “So what’ll it be, Granger?”

But the room was spinning, and Hermione couldn’t focus on the words in front of her. They swam in and out of focus, the ever-changing riot of words driving her spare. Though it pained her to do so, she squeezed her eyes shut and spoke. “What do you suggest? Since you’re brought on to save us.” She tried and failed to infuse the jab with animosity, but the growing pounding of her head sabotaged her.

“Merlin, Granger, you’re a mess.” 

Rolling her eyes was a poor choice; the room seemed to ripple around her, and she leaned forward, groping blindly for the intercom button. It buzzed loudly before Daphne’s voice came through. “Yeah, boss?”

In a slow, steady—or as steady as she could be when she was drunk off her arse in the middle of the afternoon—stream, she responded, “Daph, I need a Sober Up potion.”

When she released the button, crackly silence answered her, and for a moment, she thought the intercom might have failed. But just as she was reaching for the button to try again, Daphne’s voice came through. “A Sober Up? I’m sorry, I just… did I hear you correctly? It’s a bit early, and—”

She couldn’t contain her groan as she slammed the button down, interrupting her friend. “Yes, Daph, a Sober Up potion. And quickly.” More silence, and then she pressed it again, adding contritely, “Please.”

Outside her door, she could hear the telltale clack of Daphne’s heels hurrying away, and she pressed her forehead to the table, sighing to herself in anticipation of the potion’s effects.

But her relief didn't last. Fabric rustled together before her, and then an insistent tapping rhythm started on the far side of her desk.

Right where Malfoy reposed.

Each tap seemed to burrow through the wood grain of her desk and drill into her forehead; soon, the pulsating rhythm in her head matched the beat, and she wrenched herself upright, wild-eyed and angry as she glared at him across the table. “What, Malfoy? What could _possibly_ be so _bloody_ important that you’re going to drive me absolutely batty with your Merlin-be-damned tapping?!” 

She refused to acknowledge how shrill her voice climbed and the manic flashes of accidental magic that flickered in the tips of her hair.

A slow, lecherous smile curled up Malfoy’s lips as he stared her down. “You know, Granger, passion is also a good look on you.”

Ooh, this wizard was going to be the death of her… if she didn’t kill him first. She flopped back in her seat, staring back petulantly as she picked an imaginary piece of lint off her skirt. “Why don’t you admit that _everything_ is a good look on me and you’re wasting both of our time sitting there grinning like mad and _get to the point_.” 

A low whistle sounded between them as Malfoy leaned forward, gaze sharp. “Granger, are you flirting with me?” 

Her jaw popped open, and she spluttered, searching for something to say, when the door cracked open and stuck her head inside. “Hermione? I’ve tracked down the Sober Up.” She held up a small vial of citrine liquid. When she saw Hermione and Malfoy on opposite sides of the desk, she edged into the room, eyeing them suspiciously as she handed over the potion. 

Hermione couldn’t drink it fast enough, but when it finally settled in her stomach, she sighed contentedly. The warmth of the potion spread rapidly through her limbs, numbing some of the pain and she could finally think straight. “Thanks, Daph. You’re a lifesaver.” 

The other woman arched a suspicious brow at her, but she nodded anyway. “You owe me. I had to agree to a date with McLaggen to get that for you.”

Even Malfoy wrinkled his nose at that one, and Hermione lifted a shoulder in apology. “I’m sorry?”

“Not good enough, Granger.” Daphne’s tone bordered on amused, but she’d affixed a stern frown to her face. “You owe me dinner, and _not_ some half-arsed take-out from the Chinese place you like so much.” She spoke over Hermione’s protests. “Tonight.”

But Malfoy raised a hand, shaking his head in disagreement. “Not tonight; we’ve got plans.” 

“What?” Hermione all but squawked the word. “ _We_ do not have any plans; there is no _we_ to speak of here.” 

Malfoy continued, ignoring her as he spoke to Daphne. “Granger’s mine tonight,” he reiterated, “but she’s free tomorrow night.” 

She was sure steam was coming out of her ears as she leaned forward, palms flat on the table as she seethed at the wizard. “Just where do you think you get off on telling _my_ friends what my schedule is like, you giant, spoiled, pure-blooded—” The magic from their oath suddenly flared to life, glowing hotly on her wrist, and she recoiled, snapping her mouth shut as he eyed her pointedly. “Git,” she muttered, ignoring the final twinge of the magic.

When she didn’t say anything further, Malfoy turned back to Daphne. “As I was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, Granger has plans tonight. _And_ we’ve got a column to write. So if you’ll excuse us…” He arched his eyebrows expectantly.

“Right.” Daphne didn’t try to hide the speculation on her face as she walked away, a fact that ground on Hermione’s nerves. “Lunch tomorrow, then. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Hermione replied, dazed. When the door settled closed behind her friend, she drew in a deep breath, steadying herself before asking, “And just what are we doing tonight, Malfoy?”

He huffed, summoning half a stack of parchment she kept piled neatly on the corner of her desk. “Let’s get some work done.” The papers slid over each other as he thumbed through them, his gaze flicking up to meet hers before he nodded insistently at the other half of the stack. “Go on. Tonight can wait.” 

Irritation flared to life at his audacity to direct her around in her own office, but she drew her lip between her teeth with a sharp sigh. She hated that he was right, but there was work to be done. 

After several moments, Malfoy waved his hand, summoning a quill, and the sound of its scratching across the parchment filled the silence. “So, Granger, what are you working on?”

Gods bless George Weasley and his potion because she could not handle another—she paused, checking the clock that hung above her door—two hours of this. Her gaze traced over the words on the page, picking out a comma splice in Lavender’s piece on sustainable hair product alternatives to Sleekeazy’s. She felt a thrill of satisfaction as she crossed through the comma and replaced it with a semicolon, allowing the red ink to dry before she responded. “Editing.”

He answered with a quiet hum, and his scratching resumed. After another few minutes of blissful quiet, he asked, “Shouldn’t we be working on this column together?”

The column. The bloody column she was supposed to write with him. Merlin help her. Two more slashes of her red quill marked a passage for review before she settled it beside the parchment draft, eyeing it critically. 

Reluctantly, she raised her chin, watching the way he focused on the parchment before him and wrote out lines in tight, neat script. “What if…” Gods, she couldn’t believe she was about to offer him this. “What if you wrote it, and I edited it for publication.”

His quill clattered down, and he stared at her, mouth agape. “You’re offering me a column. Just like that. After all your moaning about when I was hired.” At her sharp nod, his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

To get him out of her hair? To prove to him she wasn’t as uptight as he thought she was? All of those answers felt more vulnerable than she was willing to be with him, so she lifted her hand in a flippant shrug. “Call it a test of faith. You wanted to work; here’s your opportunity.” 

Something flashed across Malfoy’s face, but he schooled his features. He was out of the chair and rounding her desk before she could react, papers flying through the air to settle neatly in their respective briefcases. Then he was dragging her to the door by her hand. 

By the time they reached the door, her office was back in order, and he shoved her bag into her hand. “Malfoy, what in Merlin’s name do you—”

“Shh, Granger, you’ll ruin the fun of it.” He swatted her behind once, and this time she did squawk, fumbling for her wand as he herded her towards the lift. 

She whirled on him as he pushed her inside. “Malfoy, if you touch my arse _one_ more time, I swear on all things magical—”

His smarmy grin met her declaration. “Really, Granger, you ought to loosen up a little bit. I’m taking you _shopping_ after all.”

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head as the doors slid shut. “ _Shopping_?”

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading along! You guys are making this so much fun, and I appreciate you all so much. I'm behind on responding to reviews, but just know that each and every one of you make this experience ten times better, and I'm so humbled that you're reading my words at all. Again, alpha creds to mcal and LadyKenz347 and beta creds to In Dreams!


	5. Rule Number Three: Change Your Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Sorry this is a bit late - our internet was down for a bit. Thank you again for all your lovely reviews! I'm hoping to get back to you all this weekend, but in the mean time, I appreciate everyone's kind thoughts, and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far!

**Chapter 5 - _Rule Number Three: Change Your Look_**

Despite her protests, Draco dragged Hermione out of the office and down the cobbled streets of wizarding London. The streets hadn’t clogged with commuters on their way home from work yet, but Hermione felt a blush stain her cheeks when two children flitting about near the shop windows stopped to whisper and point at her as Malfoy swept her past.

He clucked when she ducked her head, his grip tightening infinitesimally. “I know you’re ashamed to be seen with me, Granger, but that doesn’t mean you have to be so obvious about it.”

Her jaw fell slack, and she jerked her head up to look at him. “I am  _ not  _ ashamed to be seen with you. What even—”

“The characteristic ducking of your head, the blush… all of it is pretty standard fare of shame,” he replied almost absentmindedly as he scanned the window fronts they passed by. “It’s nothing new, though I expected better from you.”

The cavalier nature with which he discussed the way society treated him stung, and she rushed to correct him. “I am  _ not  _ ashamed of you,” she reiterated. “I’m just tired of being accosted on the street for something that happened  _ twelve  _ years ago.” Her gaze cut to him. “And you’d think the general public would be a little more forgiving of you, as well. At the very least, the shock value and novelty of it all should have worn off.”

Behind them, someone shouted her name, and she huffed a sigh. Hermione affixed a bright smile to her face and turned, greeting the two small children they had passed as they approached, their mother in tow. They looked to be about eight years old, and their mother shared a pained grimace with her.

“Hi, I’m Gwendolyn Fawley!” The little girl’s voice was high and squeaky, large brown eyes shining up at her. “Is it true that you helped Harry Potter beat Voldemort?”

Her amusement must have been clear on her face when she replied in the affirmative because the child jumped up and down, clapping her hands together with a truly dismaying display of glee. “Thank you! My mom says you’re one of the reasons we still live here!” 

The other child, cowering behind his mother’s legs, appeared awestruck as he whispered, “Gwennie, you just hugged  _ the Golden Girl. _ ”

“ _ Gwendolyn, Oliver _ !” Their mother hissed, pulling her backwards as the child’s eyes grew wide and her lower lip poked out petulantly. “I’m so sorry, Miss Granger. Clearly we’re still working on boundaries.”

Hermione’s answering laugh was a bit hollow for the situation, but Hermione smiled anyways. “It’s alright; start them young with history and whatnot.” She crouched down, putting herself eye level with the girl. “Make sure to read your books so you have all the information you can, yeah? Knowledge is power.”

Gwendolyn’s eyes shone with fascination as her mother pulled her away, tossing a small wave over her shoulder. Hermione could hear them chattering about how cool she was as they disappeared around the corner, and the blush on her cheeks stained deeper.

As she turned, Malfoy harrumphed, facing a nondescript glass door he’d stopped in front of and behind which a flight of stairs led into darkness. “Clearly the novelty hasn’t worn off. And given our interaction when we met in your office again…” He levelled her with a firm flick of his brows. “Pot meet kettle.” 

Hermione didn’t have a chance to contradict him, as he marched to the door, turned the handle, and wrenched it open. Without waiting for her, he bounded up the stairs into the darkness.

Following slowly behind him, Hermione scanned the landing before her. Though guilt nagged at her, she couldn’t help but think it might be a trap of some kind—old habits died hard, she supposed. When she saw nothing that immediately struck her as ill-willed, she climbed the staircase after him and pushed open a door emblazoned with a scripted sign:  _ by appointment only. _

Damn Malfoy for always planning  _ something.  _

The interior of the shop was swathed in luxurious white fabric, sophisticated chaises interspersing racks of chic clothing that Hermione would bet her next paycheck cost more than her entire wardrobe. In a daze, she walked forward, eyeing a table full of lacy lingerie as she went. A slinky, black dress hung from a mannequin just past the lingerie, and she paused, studying it appreciatively. Though she raised her hand to touch the undoubtedly expensive material, her brow puckered and she decided against it, forcing herself to continue forward until she stopped before a wall of shoes.

She thought it might be more apt to call them torture devices given the height of some of the heels.

Somewhere to the left of her, she could hear Draco chatting idly with the shop owner, but she ignored it, instead reaching out to pick up a simple maroon velvet pump.

“A little bold, even for you, Granger.”

She knew that voice. She’d heard it ring out over the Great Hall, offering her friend up to Voldemort so many years ago. Her eyes rounded as she turned and took in Pansy Parkinson standing before her, arms crossed beneath her generous bust.

Sometime between leaving Hogwarts and now, Pansy had ditched the dark kohl with which she’d lined her eyes. The mostly natural look she sported now would have made her softer if not for the deep wine stain on her lips and the sharp wing of her eyeliner. Her hair fell in a blunt bob just below her jaw, and Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy at how well Pansy had grown into herself.

“Pansy, wow. Hi. I didn’t realise this was your shop,” Hermione rambled, nerves fluttering in her stomach. “Er, you look different— I mean nice. You look different and nice.” 

If Pansy rolled her eyes any harder, Hermione was sure they’d pop out and roll across the floor. “Let’s not waste time with pleasantries, yeah? Draco bumped two diplomats to get you in here today, so get on with it.” She turned, waving her hand in mockery of a fanfare. “Welcome to Parkinson Designs.”

A small part of Hermione relaxed; she could handle snarky Parkinson. This was safe territory.

“It’s lovely, truly.” Hermione’s brow wrinkled though, and she ran her hand over the soft velvet of the pump in her hand before placing it firmly back on the shelf with a twinge of longing. “It’s just… I’m afraid the price is a little outside my range.”

Suddenly, Malfoy was standing beside Pansy, shaking his head. “Granger, this is not out of your range and you know it.” His jaw settled into a stubborn line. “When was the last time you bought anything for yourself?”

"I'll have you know I just purchased something last month—"

Draco heaved an exaggerated sigh. "New, Granger.  _ New _ . When was the last time you purchased something brand new for yourself?"

Biting down a reluctant sigh, she thought back blindly. "Six years ago? Maybe seven?" She could feel the reprimand coming as she frantically scrambled for a satisfactory answer. “When I landed the job at  _ Witch Weekly _ … but I’ve found some nice pieces at the consignment shop.” Hermione cringed at the disbelief in their eyes. Dipping her gaze to the floor, she muttered, “I hate shopping.”

She hoped that would be the end of it, but out of her peripheral vision, she saw Pansy stalk up behind her. The woman pushed her forward, guiding her towards one of the racks adjacent to the wall of shoes. “First things first, Granger.” They stopped, and Pansy strode forward, settling a hand on the line of clothing before she fixed Hermione with a stern stare. “Investing in your appearance isn’t something to hate.”

Hermione sucked in a breath, ready to retort, but Pansy continued.

“You’re all about this ‘Modern Witch’ brand you’ve turned  _ Witch Weekly  _ toward, yeah?” 

Reluctantly, Hermione nodded. “I am.”

Turning towards the rack, Pansy pulled out several items on hangers, passing them off to an attendant who seemed to pop up out of nowhere. “Then you need to exude it. New clothes, actually putting effort into your appearance—” Her gaze snagged on Hermione’s frizzy hair, and she resisted the urge to cover it with her hand. “—if you want people to believe what you’re pedalling, you have to look the part. Besides, if you’re going to publish an exposé on how harmful fast fashion is, you need to stop supporting it with your department store mark-downs.”

Sucking her lip between her teeth, Hermione sighed, blowing out a large gust of breath. “I understand, but what if I—”

Draco chuckled behind her. “Granger, two things.” She turned, eyeing him lounging on one of the chairs adorning the room. “You need a new wardrobe; the trousers aren’t bad, but that blazer has been through some shite.” His nose wrinkled in distaste, but he unfolded his legs and rose, eyeing her up and down. “You want to be desirable, right? Want a man to look at you and think about how he’s going to bend—”

Pansy shoved Draco aside, his grunt punctuating his return to the chair he’d vacated. Suddenly, the full force of her serious stare landed on Hermione. “You’re seeing someone?”

Uncomfortable with the direct question, Hermione fidgeted, unsure what to disclose. Finally, she settled on the truth. “Not yet, but I’m interested in someone.”

“Right.” Pansy nodded, returning to the wall of shoes, eyeing them critically before she selected a couple that weren’t of unwieldy height. Then she returned to Hermione, a sparkle in her eyes as she cocked her head toward a dressing room tucked away in the corner. “Humour me, yeah?” 

For just a split second, a retort lingered on her tongue, begging her to snap that she’d  _ already _ been humouring her, but she followed Pansy anyways without answering.

“Go in here and just try on everything I’ve selected for you. Just once.” Pansy’s tone brokered no room for disagreement, so Hermione stepped forward, trying not to let her displeasure show on her face. Just before she disappeared behind the heavy linen curtain, Pansy’s hand fell to her elbow. “You’re  _ pretty,  _ Granger. Gorgeous, actually. Always have been.” With a slight upturn of the lips that Hermione thought was actually akin to beaming for the other woman, she was pushed inside. “If those don’t make you understand what we all see, then I’ll eat my bra.” 

The curtain fell shut behind Hermione before she could answer, so she settled on inspecting the pieces that Pansy had chosen for her.

Several of them were simple, upscale versions of what she already owned: sensible black and dark-toned pencil skirts and a couple nicer blouses that she could interchange depending on the weather. The majority of it, though, was far more risque than she usually chose. A royal purple dress with a plunging neckline hung from one hanger, and next to it was the simple black dress with a sweetheart neckline she’d passed, that she was just sure would cling to her like a second skin.

Oh gods, what had she gotten herself into?

“So, Granger, tell me about this guy,” Pansy called out, her voice loud enough that Hermione was sure she was lounging against the wall just outside the changing room. Her attempt at a casual question was loaded, and Hermione could sense the undertone of impatience in it. 

On a whim, she selected the purple dress first, knowing full well they’d expect her to choose one of the safer options. “He’s a healer.” A wicked smile lilted her lips as she slipped it on, the hem falling just above her knees. It was appropriate enough for work, not too tight and not too low cut, but she stared at herself in the mirror. Even in her simple beige flats, she looked  _ good _ . 

It was a testament to how little attention to paid to herself that she realised she hadn’t aged half badly herself.

Pansy sighed, and Hermione could just imagine her standing outside the changing room inspecting her nail beds as she pretended to care. “Mhmm.” 

Kicking off the flats, she eyed the heels that Pansy had given her to try as she spoke. “He’s handsome and kind, and he likes my cat.” One was a simple black pair, much like the pair she’d owned for years, but the toe was pointed and unscuffed, unlike the rounded toe of her own. The other pair was also black, a suede material with a thin band meant to wrap around her ankle. She chose those, perching on the edge of the bench inside to slip them onto her feet.

“Wow, Granger, sounds like he’s a real lady killer.” Scorn dripped from Pansy’s words, but Hermione ignored her as she stood back, eyeing herself in the mirror.

Damn Pansy and  _ double _ damn Malfoy; she did feel good. 

Straightening her shoulders, Hermione strode out, a sly smile on her lips as she turned to face the mirror. 

Maybe she was biased, but she looked even better than she thought. The full-length mirror captured the way the heels accentuated her calves, and she would be lying if the image of Draco Malfoy staring at her with his mouth agape didn’t boost her ego far more than it should have.

Maybe this clothing tip wasn’t half as bad as she thought if the chauvinist himself approved.

Even Pansy eyed her approvingly, moving behind her to pinch a little loose fabric along the zipper. Meeting her gaze in the mirror, Pansy offered her the first real smile she’d ever seen from her. “So?”

Swallowing the desire to preen, Hermione studied herself once more. “I think I’ll take it all.”

Surprise flashed in Pansy’s gaze, but she summoned a cushion of pins with a quick wave of her wand. Slipping them into the pinched fabric, she turned Hermione around with a light touch on her hip. When she settled, Pansy cocked an eyebrow at Malfoy. “So what do you think, Malfoy?”

He blinked twice before he responded. “Looks great, Granger.” He was up and off towards the door before she could smile again. “I’ll see you downstairs, yeah?” Waving Pansy to his side, he spoke lowly to her for a few minutes before the other woman nodded with a quizzical twist to her lips, and Malfoy disappeared down the staircase.

A frown marred Hermione’s face for a moment. What an odd escape when he’d insisted on the shopping trip… but she shook it off, turning to Pansy. “How should I pay?”

But the other woman was staring after Malfoy too, something like understanding shining in her gaze before she answered Hermione. “Tell you what…”

Thirty minutes later, Hermione walked out of Pansy’s boutique, a slight spring to her step. Pansy had proposed a guest column in  _ Witch Weekly _ in exchange for half the sum of the clothes; the rest of it would be transferred to Pansy’s business account when the owl Hermione had arranged for delivered the authorisation note to Gringotts. Pansy was to have the clothes delivered to her flat after alterations had been completed. 

Malfoy kept uncharacteristically to himself, but Hermione couldn't help the broad smile on her face at the reluctant compliments Pansy had given her before leaving.  _ You’ve decent hair now you’ve learned to manage it, but for Merlin’s sake, use some concealer to cover the bags under your eyes. _

It was the nicest thing she thought she’d ever heard the other woman say, and Hermione couldn’t help but think that maybe,  _ just maybe _ , Pansy Parkinson liked her.

The sentiment shouldn’t have felt like such a victory, but it did, and she was never one to eschew victory. 

“What’s got you so perky?” Malfoy’s voice had a sharp edge of uncertainty to it, a characteristic she’d not associated with this adult version of the bully she knew.

Humming to herself, she sidestepped a puddle, eyeing him critically as they walked towards an Apparition point near the office. “Thanks for today.” She glanced up beneath her lashes at him as they walked. “You may not be as bad as I initially thought.”

Malfoy cocked his head to the side, drawing his lip between his teeth even as a grin spread across his face, smoothing the lines from between on his forehead. “Hermione Granger is  _ thanking  _ me?” He lifted his hand dramatically to his neck. “Well, I’ve still got a pulse, so I’m obviously not dead yet.”

A laugh tinkled out of her, and she bumped him with her hip. “Very funny, Malfoy.” She sobered though, pushing a hand back through her curls as they paused just beyond the Apparition point. “It’s been nice… getting out of the office, delegating a little bit.” She drew her lip in between her teeth, grinning a bit up at him. “I didn’t realise that I hadn’t felt  _ good _ about myself in a long time.”

Malfoy rocked up on his toes, nodding with a smirk. “I told you; investing in yourself isn’t a bad thing.” He glanced over his shoulder before he spoke with a waggle of his brows. “And now, any man would be chomping at the bit to get you in bed with him.”

Though she laughed, she shoved his shoulder, gliding past him to the Apparition point. “You really know how to ruin a good thing, Malfoy!” She paused, throwing him her best imperious glare down her nose. “Have that column ready for review first thing Monday morning.”

She whirled away with the sound of his answering laughter in her ears.

The rest of the evening had passed in quiet repose, Hermione lounging on her sofa with her book in hand and Crookshanks curled up at her feet. In his haste to extricate her from the office, Malfoy hadn’t allowed her to pack any of the work that she normally brought home for the weekend, so a book was the next best option. 

The glass of cabernet on her side table had lulled her into a deep relaxation, and she found her head dipping back on the pillow despite how badly she wanted to finish the book. Just as she closed her eyes and allowed the paperback to settle comfortably on her chest, a rustling followed by incessant tapping outside her window made her perk up. 

A cavalry of tawny brown owls sat on the windowsill, their bright yellow eyes peering back at her expectantly. Hermione reluctantly flipped the blanket back, dislodged Crooks from her lap with a protesting  _ meow _ , and opened the latch.

The birds flew past her in a flurry of wings, and they settled neatly in a line on her countertop, each dropping the package they’d had clasped in their claws. The packages settled neatly before her, sealed with the entwined script of Pansy’s logo.

A thrill of anticipation raced up Hermione’s spine as she summoned the owl treats she kept on hand for when Harry’s owl stopped by. Once each owl received their treats, they hopped to the window, taking flight with a grateful  _ hoot _ .

An uncharacteristic, anticipatory squeal slipped out of her as she turned, eyeing the packages. A wave of her wand sent them soaring across the room, and she followed, snatching the first from the top.

As she tore it open, she once again admired the sturdy, elegant material the clothes had been crafted out of. It didn’t take an expert to tell that these clothes would last her much longer than her previous purchases had, and she made a mental note to send Pansy  _ and _ Malfoy a thank you note. 

Each piece was exquisite. She unboxed the purple dress she’d first tried on, and smiled manically, hugging it to her chest. Though she wanted to run to her room and slide it on again, she set it aside, eyeing all of the clothing.

She’d never purchased so much all at once, but then she remembered Pansy’s words: everyone deserves a treat sometimes. 

A frown worked its way across her face as she eyed the pieces she’d arranged carefully on the coffee table before her. All of the clothes she’d picked out were there, each one pressed and sporting the slight magical signature of a stasis charm, ready for hanging in her closet. However many times she counted, she still got the same number, but there were still three unopened boxes before her, each bearing Pansy’s logo.

With more than a little trepidation, she leaned forward, carefully picking up the uppermost box and settling it in her lap. She unwrapped it slowly, appreciating the expensive paper that slid through her fingers much like she had with the others and placed the lid aside.

Beneath the tissue paper, a swath of black material peeked out, and she reached in, picking it up and allowing it to unfold in her hands.

It was the black dress— _ the  _ black dress, the one she’d stared at with admiration when she first entered the boutique. The material was even more luxurious than she’d imagined it would be, and she ran an appreciative hand over the slight ribbing of the neckline. As much as she wanted to skive off opening the rest and go try the others on, she placed it aside, picking up the next.

When the tissue paper fell aside, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Nestled within were several matching sets of the lingerie. They ranged in colour, but her gaze snagged on a deep burgundy brazier with matching lacy underwear. 

She’d never owned something so sexy in her life.

_ Could she even wear that _ ? 

Her cheeks burned, embarrassment flooding through her as she slammed the lid back on. With the action, though, a folded piece of parchment fluttered to the floor, and she dove forward, flipping it open to familiar penmanship she’d admired only hours earlier.

_ Granger, _

_ Throw out your hideous grandmother knickers. _

_ D.M. _

_ P.S. Tell your healer he can thank me later. _

Ooh, she’d hex him into the Veil the next time she saw him.

The last box was heavier than the others, but Hermione was too excited to pause as she tore through the paper, sliding the box open. Atop the wrapping lay two notes, and she picked them up.

The first was written in a scrawling script, three simple sentences.

_ Thanks for giving me a chance. Enjoy the clothes. _ _   
_ _ The extras are on Draco. _

_ Pansy Parkinson _ _   
_ _ C.E.O. & Designer, Parkinson Designs _

A grin lit up her face. She was right; Pansy Parkinson  _ liked  _ her. 

Chalk that up as another victory Hogwarts-aged her never would have expected.

The second piece was written in the same tight penmanship as the first.

_ You’re welcome _ .

_ D.M.  _

Nerves seized her as she lifted the wrapping, internally chastising herself for her shaking fingertips. But when she glimpsed the offering inside, a ridiculous grin lilted her cheeks.

The red velvet pumps, the only heels she’d even been interested in upon first glimpse. She lifted them, admiring the colour and material again in the low light of her flat.

Perhaps Draco Malfoy wasn’t such a git after all. 

She had to hand it to him; the gifts were certainly unexpected, and for all he touted about men not caring about women for anything more than their looks, he’d certainly been aware of the things she’d coveted earlier even before she slipped into the purple dress and heels. Merlin, he’d even been kind of  _ nice _ , building her up about her looks and calling her a catch.

Gods help her that she’d ever thought of Malfoy as nice, but maybe this arrangement was going to work out better than she’d anticipated. 

With a wave of her wand, the boxes and tissue paper compacted into neat piles and soared across the room. When they’d neatly settled themselves into her recycling container, she grinned to herself, humming in satisfaction as another flick of her wrist sent her new clothes filing down the hall.

“C’mon, Crooks, what do you say we tuck in for the night?” The yellow half-kneazle looked up at her, baleful, uninterested eyes peering out from behind tufts of wild fur. The box he’d commandeered had floated away with the rest, leaving him at her feet with a piece of tissue paper tucked firmly between his paws and wide, sad eyes.

Guilt rose up in her, both at taking the toy he was so fascinated with and for becoming so preoccupied by work that she hadn’t been able to pay him much mind recently.

Two lazy blinks in her direction prefaced his half-hearted return to bunny-kicking the tissue he’d stolen.

When Hermione picked him up and tucked him under her arm, he huffed a dramatic sigh, but she only chuckled in response. “I know, I’m  _ so  _ mean.” Tucking her book under her arm and picking up the glass of cabernet, Hermione left the room, padding down the hall to her bed as she waved her wand, summoning Crooks a box to sleep in for the night.

Her mind wandered as she drained the last of her wine, straying to the weekend, lunch with Daphne, and hopefully seeing Theo again. Just as she was drifting off into a deep, relaxed sleep for the first time in months, though, Malfoy’s notes flitted through her mind, a warm blush staining her cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My amazing alphas for this story are mcal and LadyKenz347! Go give them some love!  
> My stellar beta is In Dreams, and if you haven't started it yet, you need to go read her new fic, Nocturnus!


	6. Rule Number Four: Never Talk About Your Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! You guys get this a day early because my in-laws will be in town tomorrow, so I won't have time to update. This chapter also marks the halfway point, and I'm still so glad to have you all here reading along! I hope you all have a lovely weekend wherever you are in the world. <3

****Chapter 6:** **_Rule Number Four: Never Talk About Your Problems_ ** **

Though Hermione had no work to complete over the weekend, she still rose at seven sharp.

As she settled into her favourite armchair with a cup of coffee, she welcomed the sun’s rays spilling over her from the open window.

She’d missed this—the slow, quiet mornings that she’d been so careful to carve out for herself after the war. Self care hadn’t been a part of her vocabulary at Hogwarts; she’d always been scrambling for new knowledge or trying to keep Harry from stumbling into one near death experience after another. Only when she’d left the school and come to realise that she was more high-strung than her grandmother’s half-blind chihuahua had she settled into the easy routine of a good quiet morning.

But then she’d worried she would stagnate. They’d lasted all of a month, those mornings where she ignored the work she had to do and settled in with a coffee and a good book. Success was such an ingrained desire in her that she felt wasted when she didn’t start the day with work after a well-balanced breakfast.

Now, though, it felt nice to relax, even if only for a while. So she closed her eyes, sinking into the soft chair while lifting the coffee to her lips.

It was hot, but not so hot that it scalded her; just the way she liked it. Harry heckled her for loving her “hot bean water” so, had even gone so far as to tease her that her British card would be revoked if anyone caught wind of the fact that she _loathed_ tea, but she didn’t care. 

Give her hot bean water or give her death, she’d thrown back at him.

And so she relaxed, stretching her legs out before her with a satisfied moan. The air was crisp, just cool enough that she needed to drape her blanket over her legs to ward off the chill, but when Crookshanks hopped into her lap with an introspective _meow_ , she buried her hand in his fur, grateful for the rare display of affection.

But then a knock sounded at the door, and Crookshanks spooked, peeling out of her lap in a flurry of fur and claws. As he spluttered and hissed in his retreat, Hermione lifted her coffee over her head with a sigh, unfortunately experienced in Crooks’ escapes.

With the cat safely off her lap and only a few minor lacerations from his claws, Hermione deposited the half-drank coffee on the end table, glancing at the clock. Only half eight. She wasn’t expecting anyone to visit so early, but…

But what if it was _Theo_? 

Hermione scrambled to the mirror, heart pounding as she fluffed her hair. She hadn’t thought to put on any makeup since she didn’t have plans, so she settled for pinching her cheeks, twin spots of bright colour springing to life on them.

Crookshanks glared at her from the back of the couch as she passed, and if she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn judgement flared in his knowing yellow eyes.

Prat.

Just before she flung the door open, she paused. She was wearing ratty old pajama shorts and a thin white t-shirt. Remembering Malfoy’s words, she frowned to herself. Surely Theo wouldn’t judge her for—

Another insistent knock sounded from the door, sharper than the last, and she muttered a quiet swear to herself as she waved her wand over the lock. Plastering a bright smile over her cheeks, she pulled the door open and deflated as Daphne strolled in.

“Morning!” Her friend breezed to the kitchen counter, depositing her larger than necessary handbag on her breakfast bar. When she turned and took in Hermione’s outfit, a frown marred her features. “What are you wearing?”

Hermione looked down at her demiguise-covered pyjamas. They were comfortably worn, the fabric a little light in places, and a t-shirt that had been her father’s years before. She worried the hem, rocking up on her toes before she summoned her half-drank coffee to her and took a fortifying sip. “Pyjamas. What does it look like?”

With an uncharitable shrug, Daphne entered the kitchen, summoning a mug. Hermione turned to watch over her shoulder, Daphne’s voice echoing from the kitchen as she poured a cup of coffee. “So what’s the plan for the day?”

As she made her way down the hall to her bedroom, Hermione rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, Daph. You’re the one that barged into my flat at eight in the morning.” She could hear her friend titter in the kitchen, and she ducked into her closet. Though she eyed the fancy skirts, trousers, and nice blouses that Pansy had sent over, she settled on a pair of skinny denims and a light, oatmeal-coloured cardigan. Once she’d pulled the jumper over her head and fixed her hair with a quick wave of her hand. Another quick flick of her wrist settled a light makeup charm on her face, and she smiled into the mirror of her vanity before she darted out to find Daphne.

The other woman had usurped Hermione’s chair, feet tossed over the arm as she dangled a previously discarded piece of tissue paper over Crooks’ head. Though he looked thoroughly unamused by the game, he reared up on his back paws, batting at the piece with wide, manic eyes. When he pulled it loose from her hands, he stood from the recycling box, sashaying away with his kill.

Daphne rolled her eyes, sliding free of the chair and rearranging her clothes as she spoke. “Your cat has to be the most dramatic animal I’ve ever met.”

Snorting a laugh, Hermione summoned her purse. “Tell me about it; you’re not the one that has to live with him.”

Hermione’s friendship with Daphne was an easy one; Hermione always found herself settling back into it no matter how long they’d been apart, for which she was grateful. They were both so busy with the magazine that they didn’t often see each other outside of the office, but days out on the town like today made up for it. 

“So how did the office handle the afternoon without me there?” Hermione tried to pry nonchalantly as she glanced into a shop window, but she could hear the amusement in Daphne’s tone when she answered.

“No one burned the place down, if that’s what you’re asking.” They stopped at a small coffee shop, both of them ordering cups of plain black coffee, Daph’s with room for cream, and a couple of small breakfast sandwiches. When they began again, Hermione took a healthy gulp from hers while Daphne continued. “Creevey needed direction, per usual, but it was nothing that a swift kick in the arse couldn’t remedy.”

Groaning, Hermione nodded. “For as long as he’s walked around with that camera attached to his neck, it amazes me how little he’s able to accomplish with it.” 

Daphne’s lips flattened into a small grimace. “Some days I wonder if it’d just be easier to let him go and invest in cameras for all the reporters, but he’s got such big puppy eyes whenever I even broach the topic.” Her friend turned to her, affecting a wide-eyed, pleading expression that was uncannily similar to the way Colin seemed to look at them despite his fast ascent into maturity. “Then I feel like an arsehole and change the subject to something rubbish like the weather.”

Humming, Hermione tipped her head toward one of the small parks nestled between buildings in wizarding London, and they left the cobbled path onto it. It was a testament to how magic had come to thrive since the war, that it was able to transform the once-barren, charred square of land that had housed an old building and turned it into such a quaint community space. “Do you think I ought to talk to him about it?” Hermione asked as she slid onto the bench of a picnic table. 

Lifting one shoulder as she slid in opposite Hermione, Daphne answered, “Nah, I don’t imagine it’s worth it.” As she sipped her drink, her brows climbed high on her head. “There is _something_ you ought to talk to _me_ about.”

Groaning, Hermione took a large bite of her breakfast sandwich, gesturing wildly to her full mouth.

A wicked grin lit up Daphne’s features. “Okay, don’t talk. I’ll just sit over here and voice my speculations.” The other woman slowly buttered her biscuit, her singsong voice settling between them as Hermione chewed awkwardly. “Draco Malfoy has become a semi permanent feature in our office; I’ve walked in on the two of you in compromising positions _twice,_ and you made me seal an Unbreakable Bond for the two of you.” Another sip of her coffee before, “You’re telling me there’s _nothing_ going on between you two?”

Finally swallowing the mush her sandwich had become, Hermione took a quick pull of her coffee before answering. “There’s _nothing_ going on, Daph. He’s a coworker.” She paused, remembering the easy banter that had developed between them and the genuine laughs she’d managed to pull from him, and she corrected herself. “Okay, he’s become my friend, as inexplicable as that may be.”

Daphne canted her head to the side, eyes narrowed as she studied Hermione. “Right. Friends.” Her lips lifted slightly. “So this Unbreakable Vow then… he’s helping you fall in love?”

A flash of embarrassment flit red-hot across Hermione’s face, but she nodded anyways. “He is. I have a new neighbour, and I’m _very_ interested.”

Daphne tucked into her own sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before she responded. “So what do you need Draco’s help for? You’re an eligible witch; you’re pretty.” She shrugged, spearing a piece of tomato that had slipped free of the sandwich with her fork. “What’s he got to do with all of this?”

Pausing, Hermione considered her friend’s question. “It’s not that I _need_ his help; he offered it in exchange for taking it easy on him with _WW_.” She shrugged, taking another bite as she thought. “Theo’s a healer, and I assumed—”

Her friend’s eyes widened, and she leaned across the table. “ _Shut up_ , you’re dating a healer? Hermione Granger, it’s a violation of the friend code to keep gossip like _that_ from me.”

Flinching at the genuine hurt in Daphne’s voice, she pushed her food aside, leaning forward and placing her head in her hands. “It wasn’t intentional, Daph. There’s been a lot going on with _Witch Weekly_ , and with Malfoy suddenly taking up most of my spare time, there hasn’t been much time for us to get together.”

“No kidding; he’s usurped our standing lunch dates all week long,” Daphne groused. Amicable silence fell between them as they both dug into their breakfast. But after a few minutes of silence, Daphne spoke again. “So is it working? Draco helping you fall in love?”

An uncomfortable warmth settled in the pit of her stomach as Hermione responded. “Erm, we haven’t really gotten to that part yet. I Floo-called Theo earlier in the week, but I haven’t heard back from him. Probably doesn’t help that Malfoy made me hang up on him and I haven’t gotten home until late evening all week either.” Much to Crookshanks’ chagrin. 

Nodding, Daphne gathered up their trash and deposited it in the bin. When her friend offered her an elbow, Hermione gladly took it, falling in step as they returned to her flat. “Sounds like Malfoy’s monopolizing your time. And you’re sure there’s nothing there?” 

Daphne’s hopeful gaze roved over the side of her face, and Hermione swallowed thickly, ignoring the flash of his grin and the way she’d lingered on his notes before she fell asleep the night before. Tightening her grip on her friend’s arm, Hermione aimed a tight smile at the other woman. “I’m sure; it’s just _Malfoy_ , Daph. He’s not the priority at the moment.”

They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon watching trashy television and gossiping about the myriad occurrences outside of work and dating. Daphne had taken over her parents’ estate recently, so she spent most of her evenings dealing with cursed objects and the paperwork that came with it. As much as she denied it, Hermione was sure that she continued to stumble over _something_ that required the Auror’s assistance in order to gain the audience of one Harry J. Potter.

A handful of popcorn landed in Hermione’s hair as she voiced her thoughts. “So that ‘cursed painting’ was just a regular ol’ painting, yeah?” She sniggered, eyeing the colour that rose to her friend’s cheeks. “Harry said you were quite flustered when he showed up and told you, yet again, that his sweep of the property revealed no dark magic signatures.”

Frowning petulantly, Daphne picked through the popcorn, searching for a perfectly-buttered piece. “I was sure—”

“That a panicked Floo call to the Auror department would result in a frazzled Harry Potter showing up on your doorstep at all hours of the day?” Hermione finished, huffing a laugh as she dodged another handful of popcorn. Crooks peeled out on the hardwood, tackling piece after piece while his tail snapped back and forth, a low growl warning the discarded pieces to stay in their place. 

Grumbling to herself, Daphne answered, “If he’s not interested, all he has to do is _say_ so.” 

Hermione laughed, briefly recalling the starry-eyed expression Harry had worn when he’d told her of Daphne’s distressed call in the early morning hours and turning up to find her with an old broken clock and clad in risque pyjamas. But it wasn’t her secret to tell, so Hermione just brushed off her friend’s insistence. “Maybe you could make a move instead of coming up with increasingly ridiculous plans for him to turn up at your place.”

Daphne’s nose wrinkled up, entertaining the suggestion. “I’ll consider it. If—”

Three short knocks sounded at Hermione’s door, interrupting Daphne, who turned towards it with a quizzical lift of her brow. Slowly, Hermione rose from the sofa, circumventing Crooks’ massacred field of popcorn, and approached her front door with more than a little trepidation. Her instincts must have been on high alert, because when she opened it, Draco Malfoy breezed through.

“ _Malfoy_? What in Merlin’s—how did you get my address?” Hermione spluttered, slamming the door shut behind her.

For his part, Malfoy looked utterly unbothered by the high pitch of her voice, though he did skirt around Crookshanks’ popcorn pile with an upturn of his lips. “Anything’s public knowledge if you pester people enough.” 

With an air of comfort that was a bit unnerving for never having visited her home before, he slipped out of the light jacket he wore, hanging it up on the coat rack inside her doorway. He eyed her flat, gaze lingering on the bookshelf marking the divide between the living room and the dining room that she’d converted into a mobile office. “Granger, how do you live? This place is miniscule.”

Instantly, she bristled, spine straightening as she came to her home’s defense. “It’s not _miniscule_ ; it’s modest. And I’ll have you know that it’s perfectly comfortable for Crookshanks and I.” As if to spite her, Crookshanks tore from the room, his amplified galloping echoing off the largely bare walls that led to her bedroom. 

With an unconvinced nod, Malfoy crossed to the chair she’d occupied that morning, throwing himself into it as he stared impassively at the images flickering across the television screen. “Is this that telly that I’ve heard so much about, that Muggles are obsessed with?” At her noncommittal grunt, he shrugged. “I don’t see the appeal.” He lifted his legs, propping his feet on the corner of her coffee table. 

Pasting a false smile to her lips and propping her hands on her hips as she walked, Hermione stared him down. “Thank you for that _delightful_ commentary. I fail to see, however, why you’re showing up at my flat _uninvited_.”

Slowly, Daphne placed her bowl of popcorn on the side table and summoned her bag. “Well, it seems like you’ve got a lot on your hands today. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

As her friend edged around her, Hermione gaped. “No, Daph, you don’t have to leave. Malfoy is—”

But Daphne was already out the door, a calculating smile lifting her lips as she glanced between the two of them. “Behave, you two.” And then she was gone.

Hermione was fuming by the time she turned to Malfoy, still reclined in her chair and looking the picture of innocence. “Well look at that. Now you’ve all the time in the world.”

She would not hex him to death in her flat, she told herself; the cleanup would be far too strenuous. “I _had_ plans until you ran them off with your snark.”

His hands fluttered up to his chest, eyes rounding innocently “I do not _snark_ , Granger. I _banter_ ; there’s a difference.”

Tossing herself into the couch with a huff, she rolled her eyes. “Whatever you do, it’s annoying.” Glaring at him again, she pushed, “What are you doing here?”

He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Did you get the clothes Pansy sent over?”

A flutter of nerves rioted in her stomach, and she resolutely ignored the way his eye colour seemed to deepen with the unasked question: did she get the _knickers_ he’d had sent over? Clearing her throat, she rose, busying herself by cleaning up the popcorn Crooks had scattered everywhere. “I got them last night; I haven’t had a chance to try on any of the items that Pansy added, but they should all work well given that she took my measurements.”

Nodding to himself, he snapped once, standing in a fluid motion as he waved her away from the popcorn carnage. “Right, well, I’d like to see if you’re not opposed.”

With an audible _pop_ , her mouth dropped open as he crouched and began picking up the popcorn she’d missed. “Malfoy, what are you—”

“Believe it or not, Granger, sometimes I can be a decent human being. Now, go get your arse into a pretty dress and come out here; we’ve got a final rule to go over before you earn your wings to fly.” Malfoy shooed her away, and she went, dumbstruck and rendered speechless, down the hall as he muttered under his breath, “Honestly, how you allow yourself to exist in such conditions is _beyond_ me. You could at least get some flowers to brighten the place up in here.”

WIth a scoff, she retreated. “I’m allergic to most pollen-producing plants.”

Malfoy’s voice followed her down the hallway. “Rule four! Never talk about your problems!”

When she darted into her closet, though, she was at a loss, staring at the clothing Pansy had given her.

The purple dress would be a safe bet; he’d seen her in it already and had seemed to approve. Her gaze landed on the black dress, and she tugged her lip in between her teeth, considering it for a half a second too long before she pivoted, settling on a deep mauve with a slightly lower neckline than she was usually comfortable with. 

She shed her clothes, quickly pulling the dress over her “grandma knickers” while sticking her tongue out in Malfoy’s general direction; she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of putting one of the lingerie sets on even if he’d never know what she wore beneath the fabric. With a satisfactory glance in the mirror and a quick fluff of her hair, she slipped into the other pair of heels Pansy had chosen for her and walked down the hall.

And quickly stumbled to a stop, disbelief screwing her face to one side.

Malfoy had resumed his seat in her armchair, having turned it to further face the room instead of out the window. But what shocked her more than his casual movement of her furniture or how out of place he looked was Crookshanks lounging proudly on his knee while Malfoy, head canted back against the pillow with his eyes clothes, pet his fur in long, lazy strokes. She could hear Crooks’ rough, uneven purring from where she stood on the threshold of the living room and kitchen.

Everything she knew about her cat was a lie. As he purred happily away in Malfoy’s lap, she felt a _slight_ twinge of betrayal. 

He hadn’t purred like that for her since Hogwarts. What an _arsehole_.

Clearing her throat, she strode forward, hands on her hips, in the tight-fitting mauve dress. “Well?”

Malfoy’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing in confusion, and—

“Malfoy, did you fall asleep?” Her jaw popped open incredulously, staring in disbelief as he blinked his sleep-addled eyes.

After a too-long beat, he yawned, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Of course not.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “You always look like you’ve been beaten by the Whomping Willow.” 

He shook his head, returning to petting the cat while a slight pink tinge rose to his cheeks. “Look, Granger, it’s not often that I get a cat—”

“Half-kneazel,” she corrected.

In a horrible imitation of her, he repeated, “ _Half-kneazel_ purring in my lap.” A slight look of disgruntlement flit across his face as he refused to look anywhere near her and muttered, “It was cozy.”

His quiet assertion took her by surprise, and she barked a laugh. Crookshanks spooked, tensing in Malfoy’s lap and shooting her a glare. “It was _cozy_ ,” she repeated. “Every day my life becomes more and more ridiculous.” 

“I’m glad that I’m so amusing.” Malfoy’s glare was eerily similar to Crookshanks, but he leaned forward, shooing the cat off his lap as he stood. “Not half bad, Granger, but something’s missing.”

An unpleasant jolt of disappointment rocked through her, and Hermione jerked her head up. “What do you mean _something’s missing_? I did it all: the dress, the shoes, the makeup, the— the—” she waved her hands on either side of her head. “The fluffy ‘sexy hair’ thing that Pansy showed me. What more do you want?”

Sudden understanding dawned in Malfoy’s eyes as he clapped his hands. “ _Glasses._ Where are your glasses?”

“Glasses?” Her mind raced to keep up. “They’re in my work bag… what do you need my glasses for?”

He flipped them open, stepping into her space to slide the arms over her ears. “ _I_ don’t need them, but you do.” Hermione gestured for him to continue. “We’re going for the sexy librarian look. The dress works; the hair is great, but you just need a little extra umph.” 

“Extra _umph_?” Malfoy was still in her space, eyeing her critically.

A slow smile furled up his lips as he eyed her. “Much better. And now—” his gaze snapped to hers. “—Now I’ll teach you how to flirt.”

If possible, her jaw dropped even further as she crossed her arms with an indignant huff. “I _know_ how to flirt.” 

Ooh, she wanted to hex that crass little smile off his face. “ _Do you_? This isn’t Hogwarts-style flirting anymore, love. You don’t want to be an old spinster, do you?”

With a saccharine laugh, she straightened, staring him in the eye from the extra height her heels afforded her. “Spinster? Gods, you purebloods are all so archaic; it’s no wonder you’ve been relegated to rubbish humour and cheap dates. ‘ _Do you want to be a spinster, Granger?’_ ” She dissolved into laughter at her own poor imitation.

His eyes flashed. “Watch yourself, _Granger_.”

A thrill of satisfaction ran through her as she stepped into his space, her chest brushing against his. She ran a hand up his chest, the digit lingering on the smattering of blond curls that peeked out from the open neck of his shirt. Peeking up from beneath her lashes, she forced her voice into a low, breathy version of her speaking tone. “Or what, _Malfoy_.”

He’d gone stock still, his breath shallow as he stared down at her. With a hard swallow, he said, “What are you—quit doing that.”

She moved her hand again, curling it up his chest and around the back of his head. Her heart raced in her chest as she toyed with the small, wispy hairs at the nape of his neck. “Quit doing what, _Draco_?”

The use of his given name made his eyes flutter shut, and though she expected to feel victory at affecting him so, it was laced with the _tiniest_ amount of guilt. Finally, he responded, his voice low and tight. “That thing with your hand.” 

“Hmm,” she mused, the vibration rocketing through her, and his gaze snapped open, locking on hers. She’d never noticed the shade of their grey before, something bordering on gunmetal but with a distinctly warm touch she wouldn’t have noticed had she not been so near him. “Is it turning you on?”

His tongue flit out, wetting his lips, and suddenly she found herself captivated by his proximity. “Yes.” 

It was an honest answer she hadn’t prepared herself for, but she forced a coy smile to her lips as she threaded her fingers into the ends of his hair and pulled slightly as she leaned closer, hovering her lips over the shell of his ear. “Gotcha.”

With a low groan, Malfoy wrenched himself out of her grasp, tossing himself in her chair with a muttered, “Witch,” just as the Floo rang. 

A quick glance at the address drew a loud gasp from her. Wild eyed, she turned to Malfoy as the Floo continued to ring. “It’s Theo; it’s his work Floo.” She ran from the grate, heaving Malfoy up by the lapels of his shirt. “What do I do?”

He grunted, steadying himself on her elbows. “Granger, breathe. You can do this.”

“Hermione?” Theo’s voice rang through her flat. “Are you home?”

She shook Malfoy frantically, edging him around the breakfast bar and into the kitchen. “Be there in a minute!” she hollered before she turned back to Malfoy, gesticulating wildly.

His expression sobered, and he turned her around by the shoulders. “Keep it short and mysterious. Let him in, talk for a couple minutes, then make an excuse to get him out of there.” He swatted her on the bum, and she stepped forward with a yelp and a nervous giggle as she approached the Floo.

Sticking her head in the flames, she glanced around Theo’s office, searching for the source of his call. When she spotted him sitting in an expensive leather, high-backed office chair, she beamed. “Theo! Hi! You can come on through.”

She took a few steps back, straightening the skirt of her dress and smoothing off a few nonexistent pieces of ash from the fabric. Though she tried to appear relaxed as he stepped through with his work bag, she was sure he could hear the pounding of her heart from across the room.

He straightened, taking in the decor of her apartment, and Hermione found herself suddenly grateful for Malfoy’s anal retentive cleaning of the popcorn that Crooks had mutilated. When his gaze landed on her, though, he froze, an appreciative smile lighting his face. “Hermione, I— wow, you look good.”

Resisting the urge to fuss with her hair, she smiled up at him “Oh, thanks. I’m actually— I was getting ready to run out; I’ve got plans tonight.” The lie rolled easily off her tongue, and she cringed internally at the false brightness in her tone.

Theo didn’t seem to notice as he traced her frame appreciatively. “You’re a hard witch to pin down.” His grin was easy as he allowed her to walk him to the door. “I’ve been stopping by all week, but your lights are never on.”

She frowned sympathetically, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “I’m in high demand,” she joked, elation buoying her at his laughter. With a flick of her wrist, she unlocked the door and it swung inward.

“And no wonder. You’re an impressive witch.” He leaned closer, eyes lingering on her lips. Of its own accord, her body seemed to sway forward towards him.

Behind her, the bowl Daphne had used for popcorn clattered to the kitchen floor, and Crookshanks darted down the hallway.

Spell broken, Hermione reeled backwards, using the door as a buffer between them. “Do you mind Flooing me later? I’ve got plans, and—” She edged the door shut with a muttered apology, but his foot shot out, propping it open.

“Hermione, wait.”

Heart in her throat, she peered through the crack, watching Theo fish in his pockets for a minute before he pulled out two long strips of paper. “Yeah?”

He extended his hand towards her, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “I’ve got tickets to the Quidditch Final tomorrow; it’s the Falmouth Falcons and the Ballycastle Bats.” His other hand hiked his work bag high on his shoulder before it pushed through his unruly hair. “Do you want to come with me?”

She rocked up on her toes, a huge grin on her face as a riot of pixies erupted in her stomach. “I’d love to, Theo.”

His own answering smile showcased his relief, and he turned down the steps, glancing over his shoulder to shout, “It’s a date, Hermione. I’ll pick you up at eleven.” 

Clicking the door shut behind her, she managed to sag against the wood for all of five seconds before she rocketed upright, dancing around maniacally as she squealed. A low whistle caught her attention though, and she paused, looking up to find Malfoy lounging against her countertop and watching her dance with a mixture of disgust and begrudged interest. “Congrats, Granger. You’ve got yourself a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless alpha love to mcal and LadyKenz347.  
> My stellar beta is In Dreams, and I'm once again going to plug her new fic Nocturnus! Go read if you haven't started yet!


	7. No Teaching the Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you all have a lovely day, and please know that I'm sending you all a bazillion hugs for all your wonderful reviews.

**Chapter 7:** **_No Teaching the Teacher_ **

Hermione had nothing to wear.

It wasn’t that she had _nothing_ to wear; she had a whole closet full of perfectly suitable clothing. But she had nothing to wear that was appropriate for a date, and certainly nothing that would be conducive to sitting in a Quidditch stadium with a very attractive healer.

And even though she _wanted_ to scream and could have cast a _Silencio_ to muffle it lest the walls were much thinner than she thought, she waved her wand, quickly casting a Patronus. The little, ethereal otter swam through the air and deftly avoided Crooks’ swiping paw. It came to a stop before her, cocking its head to the side and looking at her expectantly. With a terse tone, she dictated, “Malfoy, I need help. You know the address, and the Floo is open.”

Another flick of her wrist sent the otter out the window and into the early morning, and Hermione collapsed on her closet floor, staring at the ceiling and waiting for salvation to come in the form of Draco Malfoy.

When had her life gotten so _utterly_ ridiculous?

After five minutes of existential crisis, during which Hermione decided that something must have gone wrong during the war, thus explaining her current partnership with Malfoy and why she was going to him for fashion and love advice, of all things, the Floo roared to life in the sitting room. Malfoy’s amused drawl echoed down the hall.

“In here!” she shouted, refusing to move from where she’d collapsed against boxes of old clothing for donation. Bugger anyone’s opinion on her own petulance; she deserved to pout a little bit.

Despite her call for help, Hermione could hear the dull din of his voice issuing down the hallway, and her pout deepened. When he didn’t appear after several moments, she rolled her eyes, settling further into her slouch and calling, “Any day now!”

Finally, his footfalls sounded down the short corridor and she could see his shadow where he paused in the hallway. “Granger?”

With a huff, she replied, “I said in _here_.” To emphasize her displeasure, she stuck her hand out the open door and waved it about with a heavy sigh. “Honestly, I’d have—”

But Malfoy rounded the corner, staring down his pointed noise at her with an imperiously lifted brow. Upside down in the crook of his elbow, her traitorous cat purred, simpering under Malfoy’s attention. “You called,” he drawled, staring down at her.

Despite how irritated she was at his irreverence, she stuck out a hand. The nonverbal request for help suspended between them for a moment, and she shook it again, grousing, “I don’t know what to wear.” Even to her own ears, the words sounded whiny, and she cringed, dropping the hand and pushing herself upright. After clearing her throat, she said, “Okay, so you’re the mastermind behind all of this. What do I wear to a Quidditch match that’s both comfortable for hours of sitting in the stands _and_ attractive enough that I won’t look frumpy.”

With a deep sigh, Malfoy bent at the waist, depositing Crookshanks on the floor. When he righted himself, he cocked an eyebrow first at her and then at the walk-in closet. “Granger, for such a self-sufficient woman, you’re _incredibly_ needy.” A long-suffering sniff preceded his entrance to her closet, and he began to paw through her clothes unceremoniously.

“I’m not _needy_. I just don’t want to make a fool of myself,” she countered, embarrassment a sharp shot through her. “And if you are already offering help with other wardrobe issues, I thought the first date wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibilities either.”

Malfoy grumbled to himself, extracting a pair of skinny jeans she hadn’t touched in years from the top shelf near the back. “You’re lucky I like you, Granger.” He tossed her the jeans, already turning towards the blouses she’d hung along the opposite side. “Put those on.”

The denims dangled limply from her hand while she watched him rifle through her clothes. After several moments of awkward silence, he turned to her, lifting a brow and gesturing at her to hurry up. Her jaw dropped open with an audible pop. “What— _now_?” She spluttered. “You’re in my room, Malfoy! It can wait.”

Hangers screeched across the metal as he tore through them, his gaze growing more and more unimpressed as he went. “Granger, just _do it_.” He paused in his perusal, throwing a glance over his shoulder while waggling his brows. “Besides, it’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen before.” 

Rage boiled up in her as she stalked across the room, setting the jeans down at the bed with a sullen huff. Fine, if he thought he’d seen it all before, then he could just choke on his words. 

Ripping her shirt over her head, she admired herself in the mirror. She’d certainly aged, but not so much so that her body reflected it poorly. Though she’d lost the definition in her abs that she’d boasted in her youth, the skin of her stomach still stretched smooth. Her breasts were still perky enough, especially so with the aid of the bra that Malfoy had gifted her.

It took everything in her not to scream at his correct assessment of her bra size.

Her hips had widened just enough to create a slight hourglass shape, and when she pulled the jeans up over her hips, she muttered a sigh when the button couldn’t quite close.

From within the closet, Malfoy shouted, “What was that?”

Gods, did all Slytherins have the hearing skills of a freaking bat? A quick wave of her wand expanded the material, and she snapped them shut, admiring the fit despite the amendment, and she stalked over to the closet, placing her hands on her hips and tapping on her hip bone impatiently. “Well, which shirt?”

He spun, a hanger in each hand, and froze, eyes widening comically as his gaze dropped to her chest. The noise that came out of his mouth wasn’t human, but Hermione smirked anyway, reaching for the hangers limply dangling from his fingertips. “Granger, what in _Merlin’s_ name are you doing?”

Sashaying back across her room with a spring in her step, Hermione chuckled. “I thought you said it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before?”

He cleared his throat, red tingeing the tips of his ears as she stared at him, shirts abandoned on the end of her bed. “It’s not, but… er—”

Another laugh, only this time filled with scorn, tinkled out of her. “Of all the things I thought I’d do today, rendering Draco Malfoy speechless with my breasts was not something I anticipated.”

“I am _not_ speechless,” he argued, following the sweep of the blouse as she pulled it over her head and settled it in place. Once fully covered, he managed, “I just wasn’t expecting you to parade about in the nude just before your date. Undo the top two buttons; adds to the intrigue.”

Following his advice, she popped the top two buttons loose, admiring the little hint of cleavage that peeked through. She picked up the second hanger, a navy cardigan shot through with beige threads that matched the shirt he’d paired beneath. Shrugging it on, she shot him a thumbs up for approval, then approached the mirror, summoning a bottle of foundation and concealer she saved for special occasions. “Y’know, I wasn’t nude; all the bits and pieces were covered.”

Waving away the correction with a muttered, “Semantics,” Malfoy settled on her bed, watching her carefully apply the foundation, a thin layer of lippie, and a coat of mascara. “How do you do that?” He pushed up on his knees, crossing the room and crouching down behind her to watch in the mirror, transfixed.

“Carefully,” she murmured, mouth open in a small ‘O’ as she layered her lashes. He leaned into her space, back warm against hers as her lashes darkened, several layers more than she usually applied as he settled against her.

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his reflection, and her gaze snapped to it, hand freezing as he hummed behind her, and she turned, infinitesimally closer to him, watching his eyes lower to the dip of her shirt, the top two buttons left undone. Affecting a breathy tone, she gazed up at him, batting her lashes. “Malfoy?”

“Yeah?” His eyes followed her, the rest of him stock still as she shifted.

A throaty chuckle left her as she recapped the mascara and swung around the other side of the chair, jarring him loose as she stood. “You’re staring.” 

A torrent of indistinguishable curse words left his mouth even as he grinned and shook his head at her. “No teaching the teacher, Granger.”

From the living room, her Floo roared to life, Theo’s voice filtering through, “Hermione, are you home?”

Heart leaping into her throat, she wheeled around to look at the clock on her bedside table. A quarter to eleven… _Theo was early._

“Shite. _Shiteshiteshite_.” She ran around her room, frantically searching for an acceptable pair of shoes. After a moment, Theo called her name again, and she shouted, “Come on in; I’ll be out in a minute!”

Another rapid pace through the room, and Malfoy caught her by the shoulders. “Breathe or you’ll pass out on the floor.”

Sucking in another desperate breath, she huffed, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“You’re gonna be fine. You know how I know?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but there was a sudden pinch behind her forehead and Malfoy’s voice flooded in her head. _Because I’m gonna walk you through it._

Her eyes rolled severely as she pushed him backwards desperately, hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know how the heck you did that, and I’ll question it later, but right now—” She shoved him in the closet, following in to throw her arms briefly around his middle in an awkward hug. “—Thank Merlin for Legilimency.” She pulled back, brows pinched. “But how will you—”

Malfoy laid a finger over her lips, a condescending move that only served to ignite a flame of irritation in her stomach, but then he pulled a thin, rectangular piece of paper from his back pocket. “I already had plans to go to the game; now I’m just killing two pixies with one stone.” 

Relief settled in her stomach, and she reeled backwards with a whispered, “Thanks,” and flashed thumbs up. She’d just made it to the door after one more check of her makeup when the closet door banged open.

“Granger!” Malfoy’s voice was a low hiss, and she darted back to him, incredulity painted across her features.

“What? I’m going to be—” But a pair of trainers flew at her from within the depths of the closet, striking her in the stomach and knocking the wind out of her.

Malfoy slunk forward, arms crossed as a satisfied smirk curled up his cheeks. “Nice hands, feet.” He nodded at her bare feet. “Probably best not to walk around a sporting event without shoes.” 

She grumbled under her voice, mimicking him as she sunk to the ground and pulled the comfortably worn shoes on. Without a backwards glance, she darted for the door, wrenching it open and stumbling down the hall as she summoned her handbag. 

When she walked into the sitting room, though, Theo was nowhere to be seen. A frown tugged at her features as she glanced around, searching for him in the small space, but then the Floo sounded again, and he walked through.

“Hermione!” A bright smile lit up his face as he approached, both hands behind his back. “Good morning.” With a flourish, he extended his left hand, a bouquet of pink carnations in his hand.

The gesture was sweet, even if she didn’t like flowers and _especially_ not carnations, but Hermione pasted a grin on her face as she took the bundle. Strictly out of obligation, she stuck her nose in them. When she pulled away, she could already feel her sinuses rioting against the move. “Theo, thank you! They’re lovely.” 

Pleasure flitted across his face, uninhibited by any cursory glance he sent around her flat. “When you weren’t home, I popped back over to mine to grab those; I wasn’t sure if you’d be ready or not, so I didn’t want to risk bringing them by only for them to be left out to wilt.” 

A genuine smile unfurled on her face then, both at his forward thinking and the bashfulness that coloured his tone. A wave of her hand summoned a vase from the top of her fridge, and she spoke to him as she arranged the flowers within. “Well, I appreciate the thought; they’ll look lovely on my table. Er—” She turned, eyeing the stacks of paperwork and discarded briefs that littered the top. “Though perhaps they’ll be better off on the side table.”

Chuckling, Theo followed her, carefully moving aside a framed photo. When he held it up, a soft huff escaped him. “You all were so young.” He studied the moving picture, one of her favourites from sixth year, shortly before Ron had become so infatuated with Lavender. “This is Harry, and I presume the redhead is Ron Weasley?”

She nodded, reaching for the photo and tracing it, momentarily swept up in the memory: an afternoon picnic alongside the Black Lake, one of the few afternoons Quidditch hadn’t monopolised Harry’s time. “You presume correctly. It was a good day.” 

When she set it down on the table, a quiet _meow_ sounded from her feet; Crookshanks’ paw darted out from beneath the table, snaring on her trainer.

Laughing, Theo crouched, withdrawing a pack of treats from behind his back. A slight shake was all it took to catch the kneazel’s attention, and he wriggled out from beneath the table with an inquisitive _merow_. 

Theo laughed, chuffing Crooks on the head affectionately before he opened the pack of treats and shook a few into his hand. “Couldn’t forget about you, now could I, little guy.” He paused, glancing up at Hermione for permission. “May I?”

But before Hermione could respond, Crooks reached up, impatient with the wait, and snagged the bag, tail flicking as he stared at them with the treats dangling from his mouth. 

Hermione froze, staring at the furry menace as he eyed them mischievously. “C’mon, Crooks, drop the snacks.” 

Slowly, Theo reached his hand toward him, rubbing his free forefinger and thumb together to draw the half-kneazel’s attention. “Don’t you want to save the rest of those for later, little dude?” His hand crept forward, but the shift in his weight crunched a singular, miniscule piece of popcorn that Malfoy had missed the night before, and Crookshanks darted down the hallway, treats accompanying him.

Rocketing upright, an apology flashed over Theo’s face as he made to follow after the cat, words spilling from his lips. “Hermione, I’m so sorry. I’ll see if I can find him; it looks like he’s gone into your room, so I can…” 

The rest of his words drowned out as a sudden realisation crashed over Hermione. There were only two people in the world that Crookshanks ran like that towards.

Theo and Malfoy.

 _Malfoy_ , who was currently hiding in her closet and whom Theo had no idea was in her flat. 

A strangled gasp tore from her throat, and she stumbled, flying around him and narrowly blocking Theo from entering her bedroom. As her breath gusted out of her, she tried for a charming smile, though she was sure it bordered on manic by the way she struggled to control her breathing. Relaxing her pose, she shot for nonchalant. “It’s okay! Don’t worry about it.”

Brows puckering, Theo peered behind her, drawing his lip in between his teeth. “Hermione, I’m no magizoologist, but I don’t think kneazles should have that much all at—”

Even as the truth of his words registered with her, she waved him off. “It’ll be okay; he doesn’t get treats often. Think of it as a way to win him over.”

Theo frowned, glancing over her shoulder again when Crookshanks’ plaintive meow echoed out of the dimly lit room. “Are you sure? I don’t mind at all.”

Malfoy’s laughter spilled through the Legilimency connection, and it took every bit of her willpower not to turn around and snap at him for being so utterly unhelpful.

But she leaned forward, lacing her hand through the crook of his elbow and guiding him back towards the Floo. “Positive. Besides, if we don’t leave now, we’ll be late for the match.”

With one last look behind him, Theo nodded, gracing her with a tentative smile as she led him to the Floo, inwardly cursing Crooks the whole way. 

The trip to the field in Falmouth was largely uneventful. Theo had secured them a Portkey for the trip, a broken pocket watch that he carefully tucked away upon their arrival.

Though rain had threatened early in the morning, the sun beat down on them overhead as they climbed the stands to their seats. Hermione found herself grateful for the layers that Draco had suggested, peeling off the lightweight cardigan as soon as they found their seats.

They didn’t have too far to climb, their seats nestled neatly in the middle of the field and approximately in line with the keeper’s goals, but by the time Hermione settled into her seat, her breath was again leaving her in pants.

Theo, for all his charm, ignored her obvious discomfort and immediately bounded off for the refreshment stand, promising her some water. 

_Relax, Granger, I can hear the wheels turning in your head all the way from over here._

Malfoy’s voice was loud in her ears, and she whipped her head about, expecting to see him sitting alongside her.

 _Down and to your left_.

Sure enough, when she turned, discreetly scanning the faces of those around her, she saw the white-blond of his platinum mop winking in the sunlight. He didn’t turn to look at her, but his hand rose in a slight wave, as though he had seen someone he knew but couldn’t be bothered to make polite conversation.

Distantly, she wondered how this was supposed to go; she knew next to nothing about Quidditch, particularly given all the years she’d boycotted it even despite Harry and Ron’s love of the sport, and she felt distinctly out of place in the stands among people clad in Falcon silver and black and Ballycastle scarlet. She hugged her navy cardigan closer, unsure if she was imagining the eyes on her.

 _They’re looking at you because you look good._ A pause. _And also because you look uncomfortable. Loosen up_. 

With a sigh, she shook her shoulders out, settling back in the hard plastic chair. It was a bit unnerving, to have Draco Malfoy speaking to her in her head, but it wasn’t _altogether_ awkward. He was like the snarky sidekick she never knew she needed. 

_I heard that_. 

Stifling a giggle, she observed the crowd, taking a moment before thinking to herself, _So how does this work? I just talk to myself in my head and you can hear me?_ She tried to infuse as much scepticism into the tone as she could. 

A moment passed, and she wondered if maybe that wasn’t how it worked after all, when Malfoy’s voice filtered through the crowd. _Patience. I’m here; I’m just not jumping to answer every second of this_.

Her lips pulled down into a contemplative frown as she considered his words. Maybe it was the intimacy of having him in her head, but he almost sounded… displeased? 

“Hermione, here’s your water!” Theo’s bright voice jostled her from her thoughts, and she turned blindly, an answering smile on her face.

The cool bottle landed in her hand, and she cracked it, taking a deep pull before she settled it at her feet. “How was the line?”

_Small talk, Granger? Yikes._

She bristled, sending a mental middle finger his way and answered with a scoff.

Theo, though, settled in next to her, an enormous plate of nachos stacked high in his lap. Despite herself, her lip curled in disdain at the fake cheese covering the crisps. Some Muggle trends should have stayed in the Muggle world. After a giant scoop of the cheese-covered monstrosity, Theo chewed thoughtfully. “Not terrible.” 

Silence settled between them, and Hermione shifted, scanning the field. 

_Ask him about his team_. 

Sending Malfoy a silent thanks, she crossed her leg over her knee, angling herself toward Theo. “So who's your team?” She waved a hand toward the field. “I assume you have one if you’ve already got tickets?”

Theo nodded, swallowing his mouthful before responding. “Well, I got these tickets from St. Mungo’s—perks of the job, honestly—but I think I’m pulling for the Bats.” He cut his gaze to her. “The Falcons are a little more belligerent than I find myself comfortable supporting.”

Malfoy’s disgusted smirk echoed through her head with an accompanying scoffed _Nancy_ , but Hermione ignored it, leaning forward to watch the teams. 

She was pleased; quidditch was not her favourite, particularly given the violence with which the competitors sometimes played. Squinting her eyes down at the field, she caught sight of a giant plush— “Theo?”

After a quick sip of water, he leaned into her space, following her gaze out to the field. “Yeah?”

“What _is_ that?”

He squinted for a moment, scanning the sidelines and players’ benches, and finally he loosed a short laugh. “The big fuzzy plushie?” After her nod, he said, “That’s Barny! The fruitbat? He’s their mascot.”

Her confusion must have shown on her face after her weak, “Oh,” because he leaned back, resuming a bite of his nachos. 

“Surely you’ve seen him in Butterbeer advertisements, yeah?” He adopted a high, squeaky voice. ‘I’m just batty about Butterbeer?’” When she shook her head, his shoulders dropped infinitesimally. “Oh. Well, yeah. He’s their mascot.”

Thankfully, the stadium was beginning to fill around them, and Hermione watched as people filtered in. She used the cover to desperately search for Malfoy, feigning interest in people watching. When a woman with an impossibly tall beehive hairdo—definitely upheld by magic because there was _no_ way gravity would allow for such ridiculousness—finally sat, she scanned the area Malfoy had occupied minutes before.

Her heart sank when she realised he wasn’t there. Some wingman he was.

_Yes, Granger? Your wish is my command._

She jumped, the sarcastic drawl loud as it reverberated in her head. 

Gods, she’d forgotten about the Legilimency. 

_What do we talk about?_ Aware how desperate she probably sounded, she shifted, trying again. _Any ideas for conversation starters?_

Silence met her for a moment, and then he said, _Just relax. I’ll walk you through this._

Nodding to herself with an absent smile, she responded, _Just… make it sound natural? I don’t want it to seem like I’m scripted or something._

Below them, the opening music started, each team’s mascots putting on a short display. To her amusement and horror, Barny broke out a cart of Butterbeer, strutting alongside the stands while singing his Butterbeer song in an amplified voice and levitating cups to those who were sitting nearest the ground. 

Theo clapped along politely, amused wrinkles crinkling the corners of his eyes as he watched on. After a moment, he leaned into her space. “Which team are you cheering for?”

Hermione lifted her shoulder in a shrug, her clapping half-hearted. “I don’t have a thestral in the race, I’m afraid.” She offered him a half-smile. “Though quidditch was always important to Harry and Ron, I’m afraid I never fancied it much myself.” Colour drained from her face as she realised what she said and hastened to correct herself. “Not that I’m not excited to be here, but—”

Smiling sympathetically at her, Theo reached over, wrapping her hand in his and squeezing. “It’s alright; I’m just glad you’re here. I’m a bit of a fair weather fan myself.”

Though she didn’t find it funny, a laugh slipped out of her to Draco’s mumbled approval in her head. But then silence settled between them again, and she blindly reached out for Malfoy’s help again.

_Bugger, I don’t know. This guy is more boring than Professor Binns was, and that’s saying something. Why don’t you just toss your hair a little bit. Lean forward and squeeze your arms together; use that bra to your advantage._

Rolling her eyes, she tossed her hair and leaned forward, batting her eyelashes at Theo as she squeezed his hand. Confusion flit across his features, but he extricated his hand from her grip, sliding it across the back of her chair and leaning comfortably into her.

 _Good job, Granger_.

“Thanks,” she replied, absently picking a piece of lint off her denims. 

Theo cocked his head at her, studying her with an inquisitive quirk of his brows. “Sorry, but for what?”

Colour spread up her cheeks, embarrassment clenching in her stomach as she scrambled for a response. “I meant thanks for bringing me today.” A wan smile. “Quidditch isn’t my thing, but I’m glad to be here with you.”

 _Nice save._ Draco’s voice flit through her mind, the words coming out of her mouth before she could register them. “Now _that’s_ a nice rack.” 

Even as her hand flew up to cover her mouth, Theo whipped his head towards her. It was almost comical how high his brows had climbed up his forehead as he forced an awkward chuckle. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

Fortunately, two chasers flew by, quaffle passing back and forth between them. Clearing her throat, she said, “Nice _attack_ , I meant. Y’know, them going for the goal like that.” 

A beam lit up Theo’s face as he hummed, and instead of answering, he lifted his arm, rubbing her shoulder and pulling her closer to him. But in doing so, he jostled her open water, knocking the cap out of her hand and into his lap.

Darting forward, Hermione reached for the cap at the same time that Theo shifted to avoid the splash of her water. And then she froze, face inches from his lap.

Oh gods, this was _not_ happening. 

She tried to scramble upright, hands seeking purchase on Theo’s thighs, but it only made matters worse when Theo moved to help her upright and his hand tangled in her hair. 

Somewhere in the back of her head, she could hear Malfoy’s uncontrolled laughing, but then a flash and the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter sounded, and she gasped, finally wrenching herself backwards and leaving Theo with several pieces of her hair still wrapped around his fingers.

Above her, Rita Skeeter beamed down at her, rapidly dictating to her Quick-Quote Quill. “And what a lovely surprise to see Miss Granger, editor-in-chief of _Witch Weekly_ out enjoying a date with St. Mungo’s newest healer, Theodore Nott!” A sickly saccharine grin spread across the woman’s face as Theo pulled Hermione upright and back into her chair, sending a stinging hex at Skeeter with a sharp wave of his hand.

Though the woman shrieked and rubbed at a red spot just below her elbow, she aimed a gaping mouth that Hermione assumed was supposed to be a smile at her. “Any comments, Miss Granger?”

She didn’t think she could sink any further into her chair if she tried, but Theo settled in beside her, shielding her from the woman and making small talk until Skeeter left and Hermione felt comfortable enough to relax again.

Theo Portkeyed them back to London and offered to walk Hermione home, an offer she gladly accepted.

The warm day had settled into a crisp evening, so she wrapped her cardigan over her shoulders, searching for something to say to break the silence. “I had fun today.”

“Yeah?” Theo walked beside her, hands in his pockets, but he swayed closer, brushing his shoulder against hers. “I did too; I’m really glad you came, even though quidditch isn’t your favourite.”

She laughed, smiling up at him. “Me too! I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it, particularly not after Skeeter.” 

Reaching the door of her flat, they paused. Hermione looked away, tension lining her shoulder. “I’m sorry that the date wasn’t the best; it’s entirely my fault, but at least it was entertaining?” Self-deprecation coloured her tone, and she was relieved when he huffed a laugh.

“You’re different, Granger. Not a lot of people like you out there, I think.” 

Her head dropped back with a groan. “Yeah, there will be all sorts of fires to put out at work on Monday with Skeeter’s article, but I’ll try to keep your name out of it.”

Cocking his head at her, Theo motioned her toward her door. “You say that like you’ve got experience with her.”

“You could say that,” she grumbled. They reached the bottom of her steps, and she stopped, nodding toward her door. “Well, this is me, so… uh, thanks.” Of its own volition, her hand jutted out, a pained grimace on her lips.

Despite the peculiarity, Theo took it, enveloping her fingers in his warm grasp. “You’re welcome, Hermione.” He paused. “Can I Floo you? I can’t figure you out, but I’d really like to.”

Suddenly Malfoy’s voice was in her ear again. _Idiot. I’ve had you figured out for years._ A sigh, and then, _One last try, Granger. Better make it good._

Hermione ignored his snark, nodding and accepting with a breathless yes as she stuck her chest out with what she hoped was a coy smile, and she turned for the door. 

But then Theo’s hand wrapped around her wrist, spinning and tugging her back towards him, and his lips landed on hers, warm and insistent in a soft kiss.

She melted. Gods, she hated to admit it, but she leaned into him, kissing him soundly back as she felt his lips lift into a smile against hers. When he leaned back, he tucked a hair behind her ear, looking her in the eyes. “Does that make up for Skeeter?”

Rendered mute, she nodded, her fingers floating to her lips as he released her and retreated, walking backward from her.

“I’ll Floo you, yeah?” 

Clearing her throat, she whispered, “I think I’d like that,” just as he rounded the corner.

After a moment of stunned silence, during which she heard Theo’s door close round the corner, slow claps sounded behind, and she whirled.

Malfoy sauntered towards her, a self-important twinkle in his eyes, and without thinking, she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “He kissed me! You were right!”

Forcibly extracting himself from her arms, Malfoy drew back. “Nah, Granger, that was all you. Against every opportunity otherwise, you nailed it.” He backed away, heading towards the Apparition point.

Rocking up on her toes, she resumed her walk back to her door, she shouted, “I owe you one!” 

A chuckle and then, “Publish the article and we’ll call it even.”

In a daze, she nearly floated up the steps to her flat door, unlocking it with a wave of her wand. Just as she entered, she thought she saw Malfoy pause behind her, glancing back towards her flat. Before she could scrutinise further, the _pop_ of hs Apparition sounded, and she frowned. 

With a shrug, she pushed the door open. The lights came on as she walked through the door, but she paid them no mind, discarding her cardigan and handbag as she went. Hermione flopped on the couch, an uncharacteristically girly giggle escaping her as she threw an arm over her face.

Theo Nott had _kissed_ her. 

And not just a quick courtesy peck on the lips. He’d thoroughly snogged her beneath the amber-coloured street lamps, and she was absolutely over the moon.

After allowing herself to bask in the warm glow of the snog, she pushed herself upright, ignoring Crooks batting at her ankle as she passed, and took off towards her bedroom.

But she passed an uncharacteristically organized file folder resting on the corner of her breakfast bar. She backtracked, casting a scrutinous gaze over her work table to determine if it was something that she’d filed and forgotten about, but nothing looked out of place. And, truth be told, the file looked far fancier than any of the cheap bulk order she’d purchased the last time she’d visited her parents.

Propping her hip against one of her bar stools, she picked up the file, flipping it open.

On top was a sticky note in Malfoy’s scrawling script.

_Granger,_

_I thought I’d get this to you early. Looking forward to your notes on Monday, though I’m sure you’ll appreciate my brilliance._

_D.M._

With a snorting laugh, she flipped the folder shut, propping it against her coffee pot to look over first thing the next morning, and retired to bed, a smile on her face even as she remembered the false brightness on Malfoy’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a kiss for Valentine's Day! I am a little ashamed to admit that I planned publishing the fic this way so the kiss fell on Valentine's Day, but oh well! I'm a sap lol have a great weekend!  
> Alpha creds to the lovely LadyKenz347 and mcal - thank you both for your time and help!  
> Beta creds to In Dreams for making my words grammatically sound!


	8. Dinner Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! I forgot today was Friday and I'm so, so, so sorry! Luckily this update is extra long and one of my favorites, so I hope this makes up for it! Sending you all so much love! This chapter does include some direct lines from The Ugly Truth, so if you recognize them, that would be why!

**Chapter 8:** **_Dinner Disaster_ **

Hermione was wrapped up in a nice warm embrace, arms crisscrossing her middle as she stretched languidly. A contented smile curling across her lips, Hermione arched backwards in a stretch, and a deep laugh rumbled through her as she slotted her head in the space between her cuddler’s shoulder and neck. When he began to trail lazy kisses over her neck and shoulder, she smiled, eyes still closed as long hair brushed teasingly over her collarbone.

Toes curling, she peeled her eyes open and turned in the embrace, a choked gasp escaping her when the sunlight illuminated white-blond hair tousled haphazardly from sleep. 

_Malfoy_?!

Hermione bolted upright in bed, heart pounding as she kicked her legs. Sleep still clung to her, but she whipped her head side to side, searching for the wizard who had invaded her dreams.

When she reassured herself that Malfoy had not, in fact, slipped into her room in the middle of the night and curled around her like a second skin, she flopped back on the bed, hair fanning out around her as she stared up at the ceiling. 

Why in Merlin’s name was she dreaming about _Malfoy_?

Kicking her feet out of the blankets and swinging them over the side of the bed, Hermione busied herself with her morning routine, trying to push him to the back of her mind.

Brush her teeth. Wonder about Malfoy’s motivations with _Witch Weekly_. She brushed harder, scrubbing in tight circles as though she could scrub him from her mind, but the thoughts kept creeping in the more she tried to avoid it.

By the time she yanked a pair of pre-Malfoy skinny jeans over her hips and fastened them, she was positively fuming. The framed photos on the wall shook as she stomped down the hallway, spooking Crooks from his perch within the stack of boxes she’d yet to send for recycling.

Gusting a deep sigh, she knelt, gathering the boxes with an apologetic grimace towards Crooks’ shadowed form on one of the kitchen chairs. “Sorry, Crooks. Not a great morning.” Talking to her cat was soothing even though some might call it crazy, but she tilted her head at him as she turned, infusing a high coo into her voice that she reserved only for him. “Why don’t we get a snack, yeah?” He tipped his head in the shadows, slinking forward enough that the light caught his baleful yellow eyes. “Will a treat make up for it?”

 _Merrow_. Finally, the furry menace leapt down from the chair, curling himself around her ankles as she walked to his cabinet, the one filled to bursting with his treats and the myriad toys she’d bought but not yet given him. The crinkle of the wrapper was all the kneazle needed to arch upright, paws landing on her knee to begin a gentle kneading. 

Sucker.

Though it was already clean, Hermione focused her frustrated energy on the kitchen, wiping down each surface carefully to ensure that any wayward crumbs were eliminated. By the time she made it to the stretch of the counter containing her coffee pot and, subsequently, Malfoy’s article, she’d calmed down.

It was just a dream. No need to be getting worked up over it. It didn’t matter that she’d yet to have a dream about Theo or that she was beginning to wonder where the sparks had gone.

Absolutely not.

Waving her wrist in a wide arc, she watched in satisfaction as a cup smoothly floated off the cabinet and deposited itself on the countertop. Another flick sent the coffee pot through the air. Coffee in hand and article under elbow, she retired to her sitting room, settling comfortably in her armchair with a sigh of relief.

Until she flipped over the first page of Malfoy’s article.

He’d started with dating, a topic that was no doubt part of his prowess, given her own successful date with Theo. Though she expected the pages to be filled with nothing but misogynistic drivel, she was pleasantly surprised to find that though it contained half-serious comments regarding the superior nature of men, it was also peppered with self-deprecating jabs that nearly came off as endearing. 

_Nearly._

She flipped to the second page, eyes scanning as she relaxed deeper into the cushions, the waning frustration leaving her boneless in her exhaustion. Despite her reservations, the article was good given the target audience, and it wouldn’t take too much to revise into something she’d feel comfortable publishing in _Witch Weekly_.

Turning to the last page, her gaze snagged on the second to last paragraph, slowing her skim to a true read.

_Been on the market for too long and not catching anyone’s eye? You could be looking in all the wrong places; I know I certainly was. Your ideal woman isn’t always who you think she is._

That was… strangely insightful coming from Malfoy, and a flutter of reluctant respect started for him in her stomach. 

_But then again, women never know what they want, so you’re better off showing them anyway._

And there was the Malfoy she’d come to know. 

With a sigh and a final pat to Crooks’ back, Hermione summoned her bag and coffee cup, and strode to her fireplace, Flooing to the _Witch Weekly_ building. 

Hermione bustled into her office, coffee cup in hand, humming to herself. Despite how terribly Malfoy’s article had started, there _were_ some good points in there—hidden beneath the misogyny he used for humour. It shouldn’t take him too long to revise it, and it would be suitable for publication in short order. 

It was only slightly disarming to think that Malfoy may well be a decent man; he was a diamond in the rough, certainly, but he might make some witch happy someday.

She halted at her desk, shaking her head. If Harry could see her now…

Waving her wand, Hermione flipped the calendar on her desk, checking her obligations for the week. Thankfully the week was relatively light: one conference with the print team on Wednesday, a quarterly review with the newest set of interns, and she’d have to skip lunch tomorrow to discuss content for the new year with Daphne. Flipping a few pages forward, she eyed the date she’d circled three times over.

Davison had sent a certified owl over when she’d been gone the last week, requesting a meeting with the senior staff and—the part that had rankled her the most—Malfoy. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate having Malfoy’s help. She _wanted_ the magazine to last, and his introductory article had been well-received. What she didn’t appreciate was having to give up any sort of control over _Witch Weekly_ ’s direction to Malfoy.

Sighing, Hermione dropped into her chair and eyed the framed awards on the wall. She’d worked so hard to get _Witch Weekly_ out from under the thumb of pureblood ideals, and as hard as it had been, she was proud of how far it had come. Young witches and wizards could read the magazine for detailed, thought-provoking articles that encouraged them to think outside of the prejudices with which they’d been raised.

Daphne was different; she always had been. Though she’d been raised in the pureblood dogma, she’d never subscribed to it, and Hermione had always admired her at Hogwarts. Her friend was forward-thinking and kind, and many of the ideas that Hermione had about pureblood life had been corrected by her friend. Giving part of that control back over to Malfoy, though... That was different.

The intercom on her desk crackled, startling her from her thoughts, and Hermione turned, eyeing it quizzically. Finally, Daphne’s voice came through. “Um, Hermione?” 

“What is it, Daph?” Hermione settled her elbows on her desk, waiting for her friend’s response.

It came shortly, prefaced by the static of the intercom again. “Malfoy has a visitor?” A pause. “A young visitor.” 

Hermione’s brow furrowed, and just before she responded, she heard the lift ding. The unmistakable sound of young adult laughter filtered through the intercom, followed by Malfoy’s deep tenor. “I’ve got him. Thanks, Daph.”

The intercom fell silent, but Hermione didn’t have to wait long. Malfoy swept through the door, a bright teal-haired preteen in his wake. Hermione had to blink a couple of times before she realised her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. “Teddy?” 

“Hi, Missus Granger!” He cracked a smarmy smile, too close to Malfoy’s own for her comfort, and Hermione swung her gaze to her employee with a weak hello.

Shrugging, Malfoy dragged the other chair closer, gesturing for Teddy to settle into it while Malfoy perched on his own. “I’ve been spending time with Aunt Andromeda; since Teddy is my cousin, we’ve become close.”

Oh. _Oh_. Hermione had forgotten that they were related, and she leaned back, digesting the information. After a moment of awkward silence, Hermione directed a smile at Teddy. “It’s good to see you! Surprising, but good. Aren’t you supposed to be at Hogwarts?”

Teddy nodded, but he tipped his head at Hermione. As he moved, his hair shifted, the curly teal locks straightening as it faded to a bright silver-blond. When he looked back at her, his normally dark brown eyes matched the grey of Malfoy’s. “I should be, but McGonagall instituted a new program that allows us to visit jobs that we’re interested in working.” 

Frowning, Hermione crossed her arms. “I thought you wanted to be an Auror.”

“I do,” Teddy answered. He flit his eyes at Malfoy with a sly smile. “When I read Uncle Draco’s article a couple weeks ago, I asked for a second trip to compare other fields of interest.” He snickered and added under his breath, “Uncle Draco said the girls here were babes; he was not wrong.”

Malfoy paled, shooting upright as he avoided Hermione’s gaze. “Alright, Ted, let’s go see if you can get a glimpse of the printing room.” Eyebrows settling somewhere around his hairline, he forced the preteen around by the shoulder, gesturing for Hermione to do _something_. 

Stifling her own snicker, Hermione pressed the intercom button. “Daph?”

After a moment of silence, Daphne’s voice came through. “Yeah?”

Glee lit up Teddy’s features at Hermione’s next words. “Why don’t you take Teddy to tour the print office and walk him through the way printing the magazine works.”

“Er, are you sure, Hermione? We’ve got a lot to get done this week.” Uncertainty laced her words, but Hermione pressed on.

“I know, Daph, but Malfoy and I need to finish his article and get it to print.” Silence and then, “I’ll owe you another one.”

When Daphne came back on, Hermione could hear her resignation. “Send him out.”

Hermione huffed in relief. “Thanks, Daph. We’ll come grab him in an hour. Malfoy and I have to work through some problems with his article that aren’t suited for—” She paused, glancing at Teddy, who was chattering away to a distracted Malfoy. “—Hogwarts-aged ears.”

Her friend didn’t answer, but Hermione waved her hand, opening the door silently. “Teddy, Daphne will show you around the office. If you’ve got any legitimate questions, you can ask her.”

The smirk eerily reminiscent of Malfoy’s twisted the corners of his lips again. “And if they’re not legitimate?”

“Ted.” Draco’s voice contained a world of warning, and the younger boy wilted. “Behave yourself. We’ve talked about this.”

There was an authority to his tone that Hermione hadn’t heard before, and she was taken aback for a moment as she studied their interaction. Teddy clearly respected Malfoy and wanted him to think highly of him, but the realization only served to further divorce the Malfoy she knew now from the Malfoy of her youth. Unable to reconcile the two, she watched as Malfoy walked Teddy to the door.

When the younger boy slipped out to the hallway, Malfoy turned around, shoulders sagging as he turned to Hermione. “Sorry about that.”

Nodding, Hermione tracked his return across the room. “You’re clearly close.”

Malfoy shrugged. “He doesn’t have a father figure. Most of his family was killed in the war.” He stared down at the table, weighing his words before he continued. “Maybe it’s guilt, I can’t rightly say, but I like the kid. He’s spunky.” 

The rare honesty from him shed another layer of the cynicism he wrapped himself in, and Hermione found herself appreciating this new side of him. “He’s hard not to like. He reminds me of Harry in a lot of ways.”

Stiffening, Malfoy glared at her. “Take it back.”

Hermione giggled, retrieving his article from the bag she’d settled beside her feet. “It’s true; both of them lost their parents young. They’re looking for a familial connection.” She shrugged as she arranged the parchment before her, aligning it exactly ten centimetres from the upper right corner of the desk. “It’s cute.”

Those were the words that pushed Malfoy over the edge. “It’s not cute, Granger. It’s what family does.” He fumed for a moment. “And he’s not like Potter.”

Shrugging, Hermione dipped the nib of her quill in the red ink. “Well, Harry _is_ his godfather. It’s to be expected that they’re somewhat alike.” 

Delight raced up her spine as Malfoy grumbled under his breath, scooting his chair forward in a most undignified manner. “Whatever. What matters is that Teddy is more like me than Potter.” He tilted his chin up in the air with a petulant downturn of his lips, and Hermione couldn’t contain her titter. Apparently old rivalries died hard. “What notes do you have?”

The rapid change in conversation threw Hermione off kilter, but she frowned down at the notes, skimming through them before she started. After a moment, she flipped the parchment, indicating the notes she’d left in the margins. “It’s good. Or at least it’s a good start.”

Malfoy’s brows leapt up, and he waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he prompted, “But?”

She drew her lip in between her teeth to contain her laugh. “ _But_ it’s a little much for _Witch Weekly.”_

Nodding to himself, Malfoy glanced over the article. “Was it the amount of ‘fucks’?”

A laugh huffed out of her, but Hermione nodded. “Partly, yes. I’ve taken the liberty of marking a few out or suggesting more reader friendly versions.”

Malfoy quickly scanned the rest of the article. “Most of this is just phrasing changes.” He looked up at her, a furrow between his brows. “What’s the catch?”

Hermione had expected the question, so she extended her hand, wiggling her fingers for the parchment. When he handed it back to her, she pointed at the first paragraph. “There’s not one; it just works.” She frowned a bit at the more crass phrasing and hoped he’d acquiesce to her suggested changes, but she pointed to a spot. “See here, it's a little unrefined, but we _want_ our readers to know that they should approach situations authentically.” 

Malfoy craned his neck, trying to read the page, but he shoved his chair backwards, coming around the back of her chair to lean over her. “Here?”

His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned over her. Sandalwood and the faint scent of a warm-smelling cologne washed over her, quite different from Theo’s overly clean smell. It distracted her for a moment, but she blinked, reading the passage he was pointing to. “Yes. The message of this section is more ‘be a dick and women will like you’ than what we're going for.”

When he didn’t respond, Hermione peered up, watching as his eyes flew over the page. After a moment, he shrugged, picked up the article, and began pacing the room. Hermione tapped her quill against the desk, watching Malfoy scan through the rest of the parchment. He chewed on his lip as he jotted notes in the margin, a small smirk turning the corner of them up as he read her notes and countered with a suggestion of his own before he summoned a glass of water. 

The ticking of the clock on her wall comfortably punctuated the silence, and Hermione leaned back in her chair, marvelling that she would ever consider quiet time with Malfoy comfortable. “Theo wants to come over again tonight.”

Malfoy flicked his gaze up at her for half a second before he resumed his writing. “That’s nice.”

Bristling slightly at his tone, Hermione set her quill on the table, making a show of studying her nails so he wouldn’t see how much his tone bothered her. A thrill of mischief ran through her as Malfoy reached for his water. “How long do you think I should wait to sleep with him?”

The sound that Malfoy made was something between a snort and a cough, his eyes bulging as he choked on his water while trying to swallow. After coughing harshly twice, he glared at her. “A warning would be nice, Granger.”

Shrugging, she said, “Well, you’re the self-proclaimed expert in this. I didn’t think you needed preparation.” 

“Hmm,” Malfoy answered noncommittally. “You’ve been out of practice for a while, yeah?”

Embarrassed heat rushed up Hermione’s cheeks, her stomach twisting in knots at the waggle of his brows. “I’m not out of practice, Malfoy. It’s like riding a bi— a broom,” she amended, tailoring the reference for his benefit. "You don’t just forget how to do it.”

Dipping his head in a slight acquiescence, Malfoy slid the parchment back over the paper to her and continued, “So when was the last time you… y’know?” Malfoy tossed a handful of popped corn in his mouth, eyeing her carefully over the table as she read through his revised article. 

The question felt like a trap, so she laid her quill down with a huff, eyeing him critically. “When was the last time I _what,_ Malfoy?” She gestured to the paper before her, lifting a brow. “Clearly being discreet is not one of your strong suits, so you may as well come out with it.”

A salacious grin unfurled on Malfoy’s face, and he shrugged, leaning over the table until he could see the notes she’d left in the margins. With a frown and a quick wave, the ink shifted, accepting her changes before he spoke. “When was the last time you got off?”

Her jaw popped open, disbelief rolling off her in waves. “I beg your pardon?”

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. “When was the last time you orgasmed, Granger? Flicked the bean, you know?”

Red-hot embarrassment seared up her cheeks as she spluttered. “That’s—that is _none_ of your business.” She snatched another article for review on her desk, eyes scanning over the parchment without seeing the words before her. “And _that_ ’s what you call it?”

Malfoy shrugged, tapping the article with the tip of his wand. The parchment rolled tightly into a scroll, and it zipped out of the office. “No, I call it masturbating, but I assumed it might be a more comfortable reference for your delicate Muggle sensibilities.” 

Hermione scoffed, turning away from him with a sharp sniff and trying to steer the conversation away from herself. “Well how often do _you…_ I don't know, polish the broom handle?”

A sharp, genuine laugh burst out of Malfoy. _“Me?”_ Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a sly smirk unfurl on his lips. When she turned to face him, his eyes glinted molten. “You just want to know so you can think about me polishing mine while you flick yours.”

An uncomfortable warmth settled in Hermione’s stomach; she tore her eyes away, waving her wand to gather the materials she'd need to finish editing at home. “That's ridiculous.” She looked away, muttering under her breath, “I don’t need to think about anyone when I do that.” 

Malfoy either didn’t hear her comment or chose to ignore it, a strange pinching to his features as he gathered his own material. “You can sleep with him whenever you want, Granger, but the longer you make him wait, the more he’ll want you.”

Walking out the office door, she tried to ignore the butterflies dancing with her pulse.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Malfoy’s article was, of course, a hit among men, and perhaps featuring him on the cover hadn’t been as bad of an idea as she’d thought it was. Sales had risen exponentially once his cover went live, but Hermione couldn't help but wonder what the catch would be as she sat at her table going over the numbers before Theo arrived for their date. 

The Floo roared to life, and a familiar head popped through. “Hermione?” Theo’s voice was far louder than necessary in the limited space, but she’d begun to realise that was how Theo carried himself when he got to know someone.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, she reasoned. Ron had been the same way. It was just… a lot.

Stopping herself from wincing, Hermione called back, “In the kitchen!”

He ambled through, whistling lowly and carrying another blasted bouquet of carnations in his hand. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the flowers—she did, immensely. It was lovely that he thought of her, truly, but she’d already had to vanish six bouquets in the past few weeks from the myriad of dates he’d taken her on, lest she go into anaphylactic shock in her own flat. 

Theo rounded the corner, carnations in hand, and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before he summoned the vase from the top of her cabinets. As he made quick work on the stems, he said, “Y’know, you might be able to keep these alive longer if you used a stasis charm instead of insisting on doing this the Muggle way.”

Hermione forced a half-hearted shrug as she turned away, trying to hide the lie as it slipped from her lips with false brightness. “I’ll get it one of these days.” 

Theo laughed behind her, his warmth enveloping her as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw. “I missed you.” 

As it always did, the comfort of his embrace drove out the guilt insistent in the back of her head, and she leaned back, pressing her lips to his in greeting. “I missed you too. How was work?”

Groaning, Theo dropped his head back and released her from his grip. “Rubbish. We had another wave of Coma Caramels takers. If parents just _read the labels_ of the products they bought their kids, my job would be so much easier.”

With a noncommittal sigh, Hermione lifted the vase of flowers from the countertop and deposited them on her kitchen table. “You know George; it’s a blight to Fred’s memory to make anything easy on people who try to stop the fun. They adapted some aspect of the Marauder’s Map to make the label impossible to read.”

“The Marauder’s Map? George?” Confusion was evident in Theo’s tone as he followed Hermione, his gaze insistent on her as she picked up her purse and summoned the contents she’d need to take with them for their date. 

Bugger, she’d forgotten—not for the first time and it likely wouldn’t be the last—that Theo didn’t know what or who that was. “It’s a Hogwarts thing, honestly. A map that Harry used to carry with him; it kind of lives in infamy in Hogwarts. It’s a map of Hogwarts that can only be used if you know the password. Fred and George are—well, Fred _was_ and George _is_ one of Ron’s brothers.” She looked up from tucking her wallet into the handbag at Theo’s incredulous laugh, irritation flaring to life within her. “What?” 

Theo shook his head with a chuckle. “It sounds a bit juvenile, needing a password.” 

Though she mostly agreed, Hermione couldn’t help the urge to defend Harry. “I mean, it was quite useful when we needed to get around Hogwarts without being detected.” She sniffed, trying to contain her sudden irrational flash of anger. Quickly smoothing the wrinkled front of her dress where Theo had gripped her, she spun around to lift a brow at him, trying to change the subject. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

Theo shrugged, reaching for her hand when the Floo sounded in the sitting room. “Who would be—“ 

“Granger!” Malfoy’s lazy drawl issued forth from the green flames as she approached it. When Hermione knelt before it, Malfoy’s exasperated sigh met her. “Do you always take ages to answer your Floo?”

Despite the dramatics of his tone, an easy grin lilted his lips and her own answered it. “Only when I’m avoiding annoying gits who happen to pop in unexpected.” 

The comment only served to widen his smile, and he rolled his eyes. “Ah, your healer stopped by again unannounced? Merlin, that wizard has lost the plot over you.”

Wincing, Hermione raised her hand to gesture behind her, but Theo beat her, ambling up behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders with a light squeeze. “Healer here.”

Malfoy abruptly stopped talking, a funny twist to his lips as he stared between them for a minute. “Ah, well—” Malfoy disappeared from the grate, and Hermione frowned, but then he returned, stepping entirely _through_ the flames until he stood before her. “About time I introduce myself then.” He leaned forward, extending his hand to Theo. “Draco Malfoy, pain in her arse and newest contributor to _Witch Weekly._ ”

Theo cracked a grin, sliding his hand into Draco’s. “Theodore Nott. Just started at St. Mungo’s and Hermione’s boyfriend.”

Hermione prided herself on her observational skills—partly a result of how thoroughly she liked to document every interaction—so when Malfoy’s eyes tightened minutely, she had to stop her frown from deepening. But as quickly as it appeared, the look smoothed and Malfoy retracted his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Awkward silence fell between them, so Hermione nodded, raising a brow at Malfoy. “What are you doing here? We’re not supposed to meet until tomorrow night for the dinner with Davison.” 

Malfoy sucked air between his teeth, a deep furrow forming between his brows. “Hate to break it to you, Granger, but plans have changed. Davison wants to meet tonight. He got reservations at Le Bec-Fin, Delacour’s new restaurant. _I_ haven’t even been able to get a table, so you’re stuck.”

Heart plummeting into her stomach, Hermione groaned, pacing to her breakfast bar. Petulance laced her tone at the thought of spending one of her Saturday evenings with that git. “It _has_ to be tonight? Theo and I have plans tonight, and—“

“Sure, why don't you ring our largest financier and tell him you've got a date and can't make it to his business meeting? And Merlin help me, I actually enjoy working with you, so if we could not blow this opportunity, that’d be great.” Malfoy sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets, and Hermione finally noticed the stark contrast to his usual attire. He was in pressed trousers, an open-button shirt in a deep emerald paired neatly with a grey suit jacket overtop. He’d styled his hair again, an effortless sweep that highlighted his high cheekbones and sharp grey eyes. 

It wasn’t that he looked bad at other times—no, Hermione was well aware that Malfoy was a good looking man. But seeing him dressed up like this was a testament to how much he actually cared about the publication; he didn’t even dress up for himself anymore. She turned to Theo, raising her shoulder with a regretful frown. “I guess we’ll have to—“

But Theo stepped into her space, slipping his hand into hers. “The magazine is important to you; we can have a date another night.” His eyes twinkled with the smile that lifted one side of his lips. “As much as I was hoping to get you alone tonight, I suppose I can share you for the night.”

Her stomach swooped at his unwitting implication; she couldn’t help when her eyes flicked to Malfoy, who discreetly checked the wristwatch hidden beneath the sleeve of his suit coat while she canoodled with Theo. “Are you sure? We’ve had this planned all week; I hate to cancel on you for work.”

He squeezed her hand tightly, understanding in his eyes. “This is your livelihood, ‘Mione. I don’t want to stand in the way of that. You go and change; I’ll walk you out when you’re ready to go."

Clearing her throat, she took a step back with a nod, hands settling on her stomach to calm the sudden nerves racing through her. “Well, alright then. I suppose I ought to change into something more suitable.” A quick peck to Theo’s cheek followed her statement, and she turned, making for the hallway.

“Granger, where’s your loo?” Malfoy followed her down the hall.

Hermione frowned at the question—he knew exactly where the loo was. What was he playing at? “To the left…?” She gestured, and with a glance behind him, Malfoy pulled the door shut, quickly shooing her down the hall.

Once he pushed her inside, disregarding her hushed protests, he navigated her towards the bed. When she was arranged to his liking, he stepped back.

With a wave of his wand, a carefully wrapped bag appeared in his hand. For half a moment, she was impressed by the disillusionment spell he’d managed to maintain carefully hidden away from her and Theo, but then an unexplainable wave of dreams washed over her. “What’s that?”

Instead of answering her, Malfoy dropped onto the bed, gesturing impatiently at the box, and with a huff, she pulled the bow loose.

Within the wrapping, a nondescript box was nestled. The plain brown packaging gave her no indication of what lay within, so she carefully opened it, peeling each layer carefully away. When she finally revealed the contents, she flicked her gaze up at Malfoy with confusion. “I’m going to regret asking this, but what is it?”

A terribly self-satisfied smile lifted the corner of Malfoy’s lips. “The woman in the shop said it was their top-selling device.”

 _Device?_ Hermione’s frown deepened, and despite her reservations, she rested the box in her lap, prodding the little black piece of plastic. It felt sturdy, sure, and it was no longer than a few centimeters, but she couldn’t place it until she peeled back one remaining piece of parchment, on which were the words _User Manual._

Naturally, she picked up the parchment, carefully reading through each line as her eyes grew rounder with each word.

_Welcome to Magic Bullet! We’re honoured and excited to have you along for the ride._

_The Magic Bullet is the optimal toy for adventurous witches who want to spice up their sex lives. Small and unobtrusive, the Magic Bullet can be used at home for an exciting bout of foreplay or in public for the witch who likes to get a bit risqué with her pleasure._

Beside her, Malfoy rumbled, “I took the liberty of preprogramming activation charms.” When she jerked her head to stare at him with wide eyes and mouth agape, he shrugged. “Gryffindor to activate the lowest setting. Hufflepuff to pulse. Ravenclaw to move to medium.” If possible, his smug grin grew larger as he winked and told her the last. “Slytherin for the highest setting, pulsing included for your ultimate pleasure.” He said the words as though he’d memorised them from the pamphlet, and she turned, dumbfounded, to read the final paragraph. 

_Each toy can be custom programmed with your choice of activation charms. To work, simply speak the word and twist your wrist once in a counter-clockwise manner. Levels range from a mild vibration on low, pulsing for variation, and high with pulsing for your ultimate pleasure._

Heat rushed up her cheeks as she stared at the unassuming little object. When she finally looked at Malfoy again, the cheshire grin on his face had only gotten larger. “Draco Lucius Malfoy, what the _bloody hell_ do you think you’re doing buying me _sex toys_?!” Though she tried to keep her voice low, it grew shriller with each word. 

But while she’d read the parchment, Malfoy had stood up and crept to the door, and he flashed her another grin as he ducked out. “Thank me later, Granger.” The door shut with a quiet click.

Words failed her as she listened to Malfoy retreat, the quiet sound of the toilet flushing in the loo followed by a much more obvious door-opening. Seconds later, she heard Malfoy begin speaking to Theo.

What in Merlin’s name had just happened?

Raucous laughter sounded from the sitting room, and it kicked her into action. Ducking into her closet, she surveyed the clothing she’d collected from Pansy’s line. Inexplicably, she’d gone to visit the witch again, and they’d spent an hour in slightly tense but mostly amicable silence, and Hermione had come home with three more dresses. 

The friendship was a strange one, but Hermione found she’d come to appreciate the witch.

Now, she slid the clothes aside, selecting a comfortable cream linen dress. Shrugging off the slinkier number she’d chosen for her date with Theo, she slid the other one on, exchanging her black heels for a more modest nude pair. 

As she exited her closet, she summoned her hand bag, ensuring she had everything she’d need for a business dinner. Once she’d ensure it was all there, she marched across her bed, turning her nose up at the box Malfoy had given her.

But she paused, hand on the door knob, gnawing on her lip as she cast her gaze over her shoulder. 

It _was_ a rather nice present, despite the unconventional nature of it. And she _had_ been meaning to try out other implements to branch out a bit. _Surely_ those words wouldn’t come up over dinner. And if she was going to use it, she might as well get used to how it felt discreetly. And if she wasn’t going to have a date tonight...

Maybe it couldn’t hurt. 

With a decisive nod, she spun on her shoulder, grabbing the box and hurrying into her closet before she had a chance to second think. 

Once the device was settled in place, a foreign weight in her core that she tried to ignore, Hermione raced to the door and down the hall.

Both men looked up, halting their conversation. Theo’s eyes rounded in appreciation. Hermione didn’t miss the way Malfoy’s gaze slid over her too, and she paused, hand on hip as she summoned her bag. “All set, Malfoy?” She crossed the room, taking Theo’s hand with a gentle squeeze and murmured, “I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

But Theo stopped, tossing an oblivious smile over his shoulder. “Actually, Draco invited me along. Something about getting to know one of his coworker’s significant other and making you more comfortable.”

All the blood drained from Hermione’s face as she turned, bullet shifting within her. “He did?” Her frantic brows shot up, trying to communicate that Malfoy needed to retract the offer, and _quickly_ , but Malfoy aimed another large grin at her, gesturing to the fireplace. With a pinch of Floo powder, he was gone, and Hermione had no choice but to follow him, anxious nerves tossing in her stomach. 

_Shite_.

Davison was late, but it didn’t surprise Hermione. What _did_ surprise her was that when he showed up, he had his arm wrapped around the tiny waist of a dark auburn-haired girl who appeared to be barely out of Hogwarts.

Even Malfoy raised a brow at his choice in date, but Hermione stilled her mouth with a deep pull of her cabernet. After swallowing it, she stood, plastering a fake smile to her face as the man approached. “Nyles, so good to see you again. And so soon.” She extended her hand, grimacing when his sweaty palm dwarfed her own.

“Miss Granger, glad to see you’ve got on board with changing our approach to _Witch Weekly.”_ Tipping his head at Draco, Davison pulled out his chair and plopped into it, entirely ignoring Theo’s outstretched hand. “I’ll need a waiter immediately,” he bellowed, stomach shaking with the voracity of his shout. When the timid young woman approached, he rattled off an order, demanding a cheap wine for him and his date. Jotting it carefully on her pad, the woman nodded and retreated. Hermione wished she could do the same. “So, Granger, how are the numbers doing?”

Daphne leaned forward, settling a spreadsheet on the table before her. “By all accounts, Malfoy’s article was well-received. Numbers are up in most categories, and we received several owls congratulating _Witch Weekly_ on our inclusivity.”

 _Inclusivity_. The word made Hermione’s blood boil, and her ire must have been plain on her face because Malfoy leaned forward, settling an inconspicuous hand along the back of her chair and squeezing her shoulder once. “I’m glad to see my insight is proving useful.” He directed his words to Davison, and Hermione wasn’t sure if he was preening at his own work or trying to draw the attention from the magic that crackled in the tips of her hair. “Though I’ll admit that Granger had some rather useful advice of her own. It’s a mutually beneficial partnership.”

Crowing, Davison leaned forward, beating his meaty fist against the table. “What did I tell you? All you needed was a bit of male perspective.”

But Daphne frowned. “But Hermione took a risk on changing this—given that _Witch Weekly_ has _always_ had a target demographic towards women.” Her friend aimed a tense smile at her, sensing just how close Hermione was to the edge, continuing on with a twist of her wrist at the spreadsheet. “I dare say a lot of the credit should be given to her Gryffindor tenacity for finding a way to marry the two ideas: women in the wizarding…”

Daphne’s words continued, but Hermione froze.

No. _Nonononono_ , this could not be happening.

But it was. A subtle vibrating had started in her core at Daphne’s words, the slight twist of her wrist and invocation of her Hogwarts house triggering the Magic Bullet. 

Squirming, Hermione gripped the edge of the table, warmth crawling up her cheeks at the low roil of pleasure that assaulted her. Gods this was the worst possible time for this to happen, but Merlin’s pants it felt sinful. Rolling her hips forward in an attempt to quiet the discreet buzzing and disseminate some of the pleasure, she bit her lip.

Daphne still prattled on, her expression pulling taut to fill the awkward silence as the table turned to look at Hermione, watching her as she squirmed uncomfortably. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt that we’ve brought all the Hogwarts houses in. Who knew all we needed were a couple of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to round us out.”

The settings jumped rapidly, the sudden changes forcing a squeak out of her.

“Hermione, is everything okay?” Daphne flicked her brows up, mouthing at her across the table, _What’s going on?_

Forcing a cringing smile onto her face, Hermione squeaked, “Oh, I’m just so happy to have everything work out the way it has. Malfoy has been a great addition to the team, and I’m looking forward to the work we see from him in the coming months.”

Davison crowed, leaning forward with a creepily conspiratorial smile on his face. “Ratings going up, more money in my pocket. What did I say, Granger?” 

A wave of pleasure rolled through Hermione’s core, a shiver crawling up her spine that wrung a wobbling smile out of her. She crossed her legs tightly beneath the table and shot a frantic look at Malfoy, who appeared as confused as everyone else. “That you did, Davison. _Witch Weekly_ and young witches and wizards everywhere thank you for your insight.” The last word hitched higher, ending on a falsetto as a tremour roiled through her. “Malfoy, a moment please?”

When he didn’t respond, Hermione grabbed a handful of his oxford collar and yanked him beneath the linen tablecloth. “How do you _shut it off?_ ”

“Granger, what are you—” His eyes grew round, and then his shoulders began to shake with quiet laughter. “You didn’t wear _it_ to dinner, did you?”

Hermione huffed, trying to ignore the murmuring overhead, their dinner companions wondering what was going on. “I thought tonight would be a good time to get used to the feel in case Theo and I wanted to try it out sometime.” 

Mirth lit Malfoy’s gaze. “Well, you didn’t happen to read the packaging, did you?”

Oh Merlin. Dread settled in her core, rivaled only by the warmth of the impending orgasm that had begun to spread out along her limbs. “What do you mean _did I read the packaging_? Of course I did!” 

But the little smirk that pulled up one side of Malfoy’s lips only deepened the foreboding she was drowning in. “But the _fine_ print. Did you read that?” When she shook her head once, he simply said, “It won’t shut off until you finish, Granger. Good luck!” With that, he shoved his chair backward and shot upright, rejoining the rest of their dinner party.

Oh gods, this could _not_ be happening. Shiteshite _shite_ , why couldn’t they have kept it at Gryffindor so she could slip away to the loo and carefully remove and dispose of the bloody piece of shite. She bit down on her lip as a particularly potent wave of warmth flooded through her, making her knees knock together. The loo was definitely out of the question.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione attempted to steel herself. She could do this. Just ignore it, grit her teeth through the pleasure and paint an absent little smile on her face. Fake it until she makes it. 

Gripping her thighs to bolster herself, Hermione slowly pushed her chair back and slowly sat upright, grimacing as her movement put tantalising pressure on her clit. _You can do this_ , she reminded herself.

She avoided the strange looks everyone aimed at her and settled her hand on Theo’s knee, praying to every deity that happened to be listening that he couldn’t feel her shaking or the sweat that coated her hand and soaked into his expensive trousers. Theo leaned over, worry pinching his features, and brushed her hair over her shoulder. Even the tiny movement sent tremours through her, heightening when his lips brushed against her ears. “You okay?”

All she could manage was a tight-lipped smile, and Theo leaned back, training his attention on the Daphne. “So you noted that you had a Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw.” The bullet rapidly sped through the settings, and her hand tightened on Theo’s leg, who, mistaking it as a request to hold hands, slipped his fingers through hers. “Who’s the Slytherin?”

Draco choked on his wine beside her, for which Hermione was _minutely_ grateful for, given it masked the sound of the guttural moan that left her at the ridiculously high vibrating of the bullet. Clearing his throat, he answered, “That would be Daphne and myself.”

Oh gods, maybe if she just closed her eyes and clenched her thighs together.

“Oh, _Merlin_ ,” Hermione moaned, hands flying up to clap over her mouth mere nanoseconds afterward as her eyes rounded. Taking a shaky breath, she tried to recover. “Merlin I’m just so _glad_ for the both of you.” Her voice had taken a ridiculous breathy tone, and she could feel the swath of red that coloured her cheeks and chest. If she wasn’t mistaken, a sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. “Without the hard work of Draco and Daphne, I’m really not sure where the magazine would be.”

Davison nodded, though he watched her with a hungry glint in his eyes that was _nearly_ enough for Hermione to ignore the coiling low in her belly. “Why don’t you tell us about the new column you proposed?”

The new column? Oh, yes, the one she hadn’t had a chance to tell Malfoy about. Right, that one. “Draco is going to head up a dating section—since his first article was so well-received.” She bit down on her lip, squeezing her eyes shut again as another tremour passed through her. “And it was quite well-received— _oh gods, yes it was a good one_.” The warmth grew stronger and she rocked forward again, stars dancing behind her closed eyes. “Mmm, yeah, and it will—” 

Her knees knocked together as she shifted, somehow jolting the bullet further, and she pounded her fist down on the table as sparks burst behind her eyelids and her orgasm crested over her with a low moan. "Shite!" Her eyes flew open, and she choked out a breath. "That was— yes. That was wonderful. The article, I mean!"

Silence. No one at the table spoke, and even though she was coming down from one of the most intense orgasms she’d ever had, Hermione couldn’t help but notice it. Finally, Draco cleared his throat, laughter clear in his words. “I’m glad you’re looking forward to it as much as I am, Granger.” Clearing his throat again, he reached for his wine glass, holding it up in the centre of the table and gesturing to everyone else. “To the continued success of _Witch Weekly_.”

Everyone around the table followed suit, Hermione included through her shame.

The rest of the evening had gone smoothly enough, though Hermione couldn’t shake the blush that stained her cheeks, nor could she meet anyone’s gaze. Finally, the meal had ended and Theo had offered to Floo her home, but Hermione had declined, making a flimsy excuse to stop by the office. She’d stalled for as long as she could, trying to give him plenty of time to make it home, before she Apparated to the end of her street. To her surprise, Malfoy was waiting for her.

Pulling her handbag higher on her shoulder, Hermione strode past him, averting her face so he wouldn’t see her lingering blush. “I suppose you find this whole thing funny?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shove his hands in his pockets and open his mouth to answer. “Rhetorical question, Malfoy. If you know what’s good for you, you _will not_ answer.”

The clack of her heels was too loud even in the open space, and she paused, ripping one off with a frustrated sigh. “I have never been so embarrassed in my life.”

Shrugging, Draco gripped her arm when she teetered. “It wasn’t that bad; at least Theo knows you like to have fun now.”

She snorted a self-deprecating laugh as she pulled the other heel off, righting herself and continuing down the path toward her flat. “Right, and so does my staff and my sole funder. Not exactly how I pictured the evening going.” Arriving at her stoop, Hermione marched up the steps, finally turning over her shoulder to reluctantly meet his gaze. “Thanks for checking on me, though. Probably my lowest point in a while, but hopefully everyone will laugh it off.”

Draco guffawed, the genuine mirth in his eyes illuminating his entire face. “Well, it may be a low point for _you_ , but you certainly know how to end a meeting on a climax.” 

With a groan of disbelief, Hermione aimed a leer at him. “Prat.”

Hopping down the steps, Draco turned on his heel. “It’s why the ladies love me. Oh, and Granger?” 

She lifted an eyebrow, already half-turned to unward the door to her flat, but before she could stop him, he lifted his hand, twisting it once with a wicked grin. “ _Slytherin._ ”

Immediately, the device roared to life, the vibrations sending her knees to jelly. “Malfoy!”

Her enraged shout echoed down the walk, but he was gone already, Disapparating with a _pop!_ With a groan of fury and renewed tension, Hermione hurried into her flat and down the hall, flopping into bed to drown in her shame. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my husband for helping me name the Weasley product that puts the kids into St. Mungos. It was certainly an interesting conversation on the six-hour drive across Kansas lol P.S. this fic is complete. Once I get through final edits, I'll be bumping my update schedule up! So expect to see more chapters quicker. Another gift from me to you! xx
> 
> Alpha creds to LadyKenz347 and mcal  
> Beta creds to In Dreams!


	9. La Sorcière de Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! This fic is complete, which means that I'll be bumping up the posting schedule. So you'll get this chapter today plus a bonus chapter on Wednesday + regular update on Friday! Get hype!

**Chapter 9:** **_La Sorcière de Paris_ **

Dating Theo was… not like any experience Hermione had had before. 

It was wonderful, in a word. Theo was cultured and refined and gentlemanly and a hundred other characteristics she’d put into a neat and orderly checklist for her ideal man, but no matter how hard she tried to enjoy being courted by someone so worldly, something about it felt off.

In the two months since the disastrous dinner with Davison, Theo had gone out of his way to take her on extravagant dates; dinner at the Eiffel Tower, arranging a private tour of the Louvre, and paying a private sommelier to determine her perfect wine—which just so happened to be a Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Montrachet Grand Cru that was worth more than her flat’s rent and which she promptly spat out in shock. She was sure the Ministry had their names on a rotating Portkey list with how often they travelled, and Crooks had begun to hiss at her upon stepping foot in her own home. All of their dates were planned to the most minute detail, and though Hermione appreciated it, she found she couldn’t quite enjoy them.

Not when it felt like she was a stranger dressed in her own skin and very fashionable clothing. As the weeks wore on and she was photographed by the paparazzi with the  _ Prophet _ , more clothes began to show up at her door, varying notes from Pansy tacked to the front of them. Her closet was filled to overflowing with the fancy clothes, Theo had come to expect her to be dressed to the nines every time he saw her or he thought she was sick, and Draco had become aloof after weeks of peacocking about how effective his methods were.

Even her Saturday morning routine had been overtaken by Theo’s overzealous dating. He’d taken to Flooing over without ringing her, and though she was sure he thought it romantic, she had not taken kindly to waking up and padding to the bathroom in a ratty old t-shirt only to find him in her kitchen with half-burnt bacon smouldering on her counter.

Thankfully, though, she’d convinced him that she needed a morning alone.

Well… Hermione had begged off yet another traipse through the woods with Theo by faking a head cold the night before. In a fit of genius, she’d thought to lock the Floo from unwanted visitors and hunkered down in her flat, alone, with her cat. 

So she sat, tapping her quill on her desk in a rapid patter eerily reminiscent of Draco when he’d first started, her mind trying to puzzle out why she was so gods-blasted miserable when everything she’d ever wanted had fallen into her lap.

Successful business, international recognition for her efforts, a hard-working, romantic boyfriend who doted on her far more than she could have ever asked for… and yet she was no happier now than she had been when she and Malfoy had made their deal eight months prior. 

When she’d crawled out of bed that morning, she’d retrieved the joggers that had been abandoned in a sad lump in the back of her closet and pulled them on over her—very comfortable, thank you—grandma knickers. Casting a half-hearted sneer at the various silk pyjamas she kept in a near-constant laundered state, Hermione spun, summoning a book from her shelves as she brewed herself a fresh cup of coffee.

No cream or sugar. She wanted to grimace over something  _ other  _ than how utterly unsatisfied she was with her relationship.

Daphne had theories—many,  _ many _ theories—on why she was less than happy with Theo. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the traits she looked for, because he did. He was smart, mostly funny, and conscientious. When he wasn’t working at the hospital or taking her on endless dates, he took volunteer shifts at the Lumos House for orphaned war children. 

For lack of a better description, he was perfect.

Flopping down in her armchair, Hermione sighed. Her problem was that she didn’t want perfect. 

Sipping her coffee, Hermione stared off into space. She had a mountain of work to get through, should probably Floo Harry and get to together for lunch, and needed to take Crooks for his annual checkup with the magizoologist, but instead, she leaned back in the chair, raising her book with a long-suffering sigh.

She’d summoned a romance, something mindless to keep herself from focusing on her own problems, but after a few pages, her mind drifted again.

When the hero tried to swoop the main character into a romantic kiss, Hermione grimaced, flipping the book on its cover—enough of that for one day. 

A tapping at her window broke through her thoughts, and she turned, apathetic to the source. Sitting on the ledge was a lovely snowy owl who reminded her briefly of Hedwig, but she blinked twice, remembering the bird’s fate. In  _ this  _ owl’s beak, a thick scroll of paper hung limply. 

Setting her book aside, Hermione stared at the owl. A tag dangling from its ankle designated it as a postal bird, so someone had to have rented the bird to deliver their message. That marked out Harry, since he’d bought a bird after the fallout from the war had settled. Ron too, since he still had Pigwidgeon. Draco had his eagle owl, so that knocked him out as well.

She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she turned, nestling further into her chair as she resumed reading her book. 

Let the owl sit. It couldn’t be that important.

But she’d barely made it a paragraph in before the owl started tapping again, faster and more insistent. Flopping her head back, she glared at the interloper. “What do you want?”

Almost as though it understood her, the owl shook its head, the missive flapping back and forth in the wind it conjured.

The movement summoned Crooks, who tore across the room and launched himself onto the table beneath her window, slapping maniacally at the glass with croaky little chirps. His tail swished rapidly back and forth, sending the owl perch and treats crashing to the floor.

_ Bugger _ .

With a sigh, Hermione flipped her legs over the edge of the chair, avoiding the carnage Crooks had wrought on her floor. She waved her wand, watching as the material righted itself. Crooks was still battering the window to get to the bird, so after tucking the menace under her arm, Hermione made her way down the hall and deposited him on the bed.

“If you can’t behave, you’ll have to stay here,” she intoned, watching the way his gaze flicked at the doorway. The pecks were growing louder, and his tail swished as though he’d take off towards the door. “No, Crooks.” Slowly, she backed up, tiptoeing towards the door so she could stop his attempt at an escape. “Be good,” she warned one last time as she closed the door with a  _ snick _ .

Finally, she approached the window, allowing the bird to flutter in and settle on the perch with a disgruntled look. Reaching out, she motioned for the owl to drop the missive, but its eyes seemed to narrow at her, eyeing the container of owl treats alongside the perch.

“Really?” She leaned forward again, hoping to snatch the letter away from him, but the bird leaned back, keeping the parchment from her, and Hermione summoned the owl treats, uncapping the top with a withering glare. “One day. I wanted  _ one day _ of peace _ ,  _ but instead I get to deal with a pompous owl.” There was no venom in her words though, and she extended her palm, a pile of treats resting in the middle.

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, the owl tipped its head, eyes going between hers and the treats in her palm. After a moment, she sighed, bringing the treats closer. “Go on, then.”

Finally, the bird dropped the missive and followed Hermione’s hand to the counter, pecking away at the treats she deposited there.

Bird satisfied, she dropped back in her chair, unfolding the note. Upon closer inspection, it was several notes all folded together.

With a small laugh, she unfolded them, starting on the innermost. 

It was short and to the point, the handwriting immediately recognisable.

_ Hermione, _

_ Why is your Floo locked? I have news! Let me in! _

_ Daph  _

Despite her foul mood, Hermione tittered, opening the next.

_ Hermione, _

_ Stop ignoring me! I’ll Apparate to the point down the block and walk over—don’t tempt me. I have news! _

_ Daph _

Finally, she unfolded the last one just as a knock sounded on the door. She assumed it was Daphne, so she let her wait.

_ Hermione Jean Granger, _

_ Alright, I’m coming over. I don’t know what’s going on, but prepare yourself for girl talk and terrible food. I’m getting the takeaway; you’d better have the drinks. _

_ Daph _

Another set of knocks sounded on her door, and Hermione laughed, padding across the floor to admit her friend. Without a thought, she flung the door open, a mischievous smile across her cheeks. “Y’know, if you wanted to have a girl’s day this weekend, all you had to do was—” Her words stopped abruptly, smile falling from her face.

Daphne was nowhere in sight; instead, Theo stood on her doorstep, another bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Hey, Hermione,” he said sheepishly. He gestured at the carnations, a wry smile on his face. “These are for you. Obviously.” His cheeks pinkened, but he continued anyway. “I was coming back from the grocer and saw your light on and thought maybe I could just drop off some flowers.” His smile was endearing as he rambled on, gesturing to the bouquet in his hand. “Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

As frustrated as she was with the situation and herself, the thought did make her smile. Maybe he wasn’t so perfect after all—if he was, he might have left her alone when she asked.

Accepting the bouquet, she smiled. “Thanks, Theo. I appreciate it. I hope you’re having a good day, and thanks again for letting me have a day to myself.” Slowly, she moved to shut the door, but he shot his hand out, stopping it from closing.

“I…” He paused, swallowing. “I know things have been a bit… much. But I just wanted to impress you.” A self-deprecating laugh escaped him, and he glanced down at his shoes. 

A flutter of emotion passed through her stomach, and a smile curled her lips, the first genuine smile she thought she’d had in days when she’d been in his presence. “It’s okay. I appreciate being the centre of attention sometimes.” She laughed, but the joke fell flat between them. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “We’ll just be honest with each other going forward, yeah? No false pretenses.” 

Even as she said the words, she cringed, knowing that she wasn’t being at all truthful about herself. But Theo smiled, eagerly nodding back at her. “That sounds great—it would be nice, afterall, not to feel so on edge around you.” He stepped forward, lifting her chin with his hand and pressing a kiss to her lips that quickly grew heated, her arms wrapping around his middle. “I like you a lot; I don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured against her lips.

“Mm,” she answered, melting into him. One thing their relationship did not lack was the physical chemistry—she had to admit that.

She just needed to quash the little voice in the back of her mind that wanted something—some _ one _ —else. Leaning back, she looked into his eyes, making a split second decision. “Do you have plans next weekend?”

Confusion flit across his face, but he answered anyway. “None that I’m aware of. Should I?”

Stepping away from him, she responded with a grin. “No, but don’t make any.” Slowly, she started pushing the door shut again, ushering him out. “I’ll owl you with the details.” 

Theo nodded, backing down the stoop with an easy smile on his face as he tucked his hands in his trouser pockets. “I’ll look forward to them. Have a good day, Hermione.”

“You too, Theo.” The door closed with a final click, and she dropped her head back against it with a sigh. 

Thirty minutes later, and after a panicked Patronus message to Daphne, the two girls were sprawled in the middle of Hermione’s sitting room, boxes of takeaway scattered across the table before them and a bottle of freshly-cracked wine pouring itself into their glasses.

Spearing an eggroll, Daphne eyed Hermione critically, her gaze laser focused on the stress lines Hermione could feel etching themselves into her forehead. “Alright, clearly there’s more going on than you’ve told me.” She took a bite of the eggroll, watching as Hermione pushed her noodles around her plate. “What’s wrong?”

With a sigh, Hermione abandoned her food. “Nothing? Everything? I don’t know.” She groaned, flopping dramatically backwards and tossing an arm over her eyes. It was easier to talk about it without having to make eye contact with anyone. Her next words came out muffled by the hand thrown over her face. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Low whistling met her declaration, and Hermione peeked out, looking at her friend. Daphne settled her chopsticks on either side of her plate and propped her chin up on her hand. “Isn’t it a bit early for second thoughts?”

Shrugging, Hermione stared up at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it having second thoughts.” She frowned, pulling her lip between her teeth as turmoil roiled in her stomach. “I  _ am  _ having fun; it’s just a bit more than I expected. My last serious relationship—”

“Was just after Hogwarts,” Daphne finished. “It’s been a while. Maybe you just need to give yourself some time to get used to a man doting on you.”

Flashes of neatly wrapped boxes and shopping trips flashed through her mind, but Hermione immediately shoved them back down. “Maybe.”

Silence settled between them for a few minutes, Daphne chewing on the rest of her eggroll thoughtfully. Finally, she clapped, eyes growing wide as she looked at Hermione. “Maybe you ought to sleep with him.”

Sucking in a deep gasp that startled Crooks from his window perch, she spluttered, “ _ Sleep with him _ ?! Daphne, I’m still trying to decide if this is the right relationship for me. How will having sex with him help me figure that out?”

Her friend shrugged. “If the connection is there, you’ll know during those intimate moments.” A sly smile lifted Daphne’s lips. “And if it’s not… well, at least you get to say you shagged a hot healer.”

Despite herself, Hermione barked a laugh, throwing a discarded couch pillow at her friend. “Very funny.” She looked up at the ceiling again. “I guess I did tell him not to make plans for next weekend.”

Daphne’s smile grew. “And I  _ do  _ have a flat in Chelsea that you could borrow for the weekend. Pay to have a house elf disinfect the sheets when you’re done and it’s yours for the weekend.”

Snorting, Hermione sat upright, reaching for her friend’s hand. “Thanks, Daph. I’ll take you up on that.” Feeling marginally better now that she had a plan in place, Hermione canted her head at her friend. “Now, what was so important that you had to send three notes about.” 

“Well…” Daphne trailed off, a spark in her eyes. “I also have a date next weekend.”

Hermione froze, staring at her friend. “You don’t! With who?”

Daphne couldn’t contain the little dance she did at Hermione’s question. “A certain Auror that you may know.” When Hermione’s jaw dropped open, Daphne added, “I was in Diagon and happened to come across Harry at Fortescue’s. I offered to buy his scoop, but he wouldn't let me unless I agreed to let him take me out for dinner.” A bright smile lit her face as she innocently propped her hand in her palm. “Who am I to refuse the Boy Who Lived and Became Entirely Too Attractive for His Own Good?”

Groaning good naturedly, Hermione answered, “I’m happy for you, Daph! But for the love of Merlin, please spare me from any of the more explicit details of anything that goes on between you. You’re both my best friends.” 

Daphne laughed, conceding with a slight tilt of her head. “Alright, but only because you asked.” Both of them fell silent, chewing their food in contemplation. Hermione was so lost in her own head that she almost missed Daphne’s question. “Hermione, can I ask you something?”

Humming to herself, she tilted her head, eyeing her statuesque friend. “You just did.”

With a snort, Daphne poked her with her foot. “No one likes a smartarse.” She took a long sip from her wine and pinned Hermione with a serious look that shot a wave of nerves through her stomach. Sitting upright and affording Daphne a serious expression, Hermione waited for her friend to speak. “How are you really doing with all of this? Draco working for the magazine, the direction it’s taking?”

It wasn’t what she expected her friend to ask, but it was close enough that Hermione felt tension settle on her shoulders. She chose her words carefully, trying not to give away too much of her turmoil. “It’s different.” The quizzical lift of Daphne’s brow spurred her onwards, trying to clarify. “I never thought I’d say this, but I  _ like  _ working with Draco.” Gesturing vaguely toward the stack of his articles on her kitchen table, she continued. “He works hard, and when he’s not being an arse, his articles are actually quite well done.”

Daphne nodded along. “Readership  _ has  _ improved drastically over the last few months.” She cradled a piece of orange chicken between her chopsticks, studying it before she popped it in her mouth. “The two of you have become quite close. Afternoons in your office, conspiring near the water tank, calling each other by your given names… if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were hiding something from me.”

Stomach plummeting to her toes, Hermione reeled. “Hiding something from you? Daph, I think you’ve lost the plot.” 

“Have I, though?” Daphne levelled her friend with a serious expression, her lips pulled tight. “Look, I know you’re the boss here and you don’t appreciate unsolicited advice, but I’ve seen you with Draco and with Theo. You don’t light up the way you do around Draco when you’re with Theo.”

The truth of the statement settled hard on Hermione, and she swallowed desperately around the knot that had formed rapidly in her throat. “What do you mean?”

Daphne waved her wand, gathering the rest of the takeaway into their containers and then directed them to Hermione’s fridge. “I mean that if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were falling in love with Draco, not Theo.”

Dumbfounded, Hermione couldn’t respond to her friend, but when the woman extended her hand to her, Hermione readily accepted it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet and wrapped into a hug.

After a moment, Daphne pulled away, staring at her intently. “Theo checks all your marks, but does he challenge you the way you deserve? Do you feel that spark with him?” She didn’t allow Hermione to answer, crossing instead to the Floo and throwing a handful of powder in. “I’m not telling you what to do—that’s your decision—but I think you might take a second look at all of this.”

Nodding mutely, Hermione crossed the room, waving at her friend as she disappeared with a last, “The takeaway is in the ice box; I think you need it more than I do.”

Daphne had been right. The rest of the day, Hermione had locked herself in her flat, cancelling all arrangements she’d made with her friends and coworkers. She spent the whole of Sunday evening throwing herself into editing mode, ploughing through six articles for various contributors as a means of distracting herself.

She pointedly ignored the stack all bound in Draco Malfoy’s fancy folios. 

If she didn’t give herself time to think, she wouldn’t have to consider whether or not Daphne was telling the truth. 

Finally, though, at half seven, she’d reached the last of the stack. Luna Lovegood's article on sustainable harvesting of rare ingredients from magical beasts stared up at her, ruthless red marks slashing her friend’s lyrical prose to bits.

With a frown, Hermione stared down at it, waving her wand to vanish some of the more irrelevant notes; deep down, she knew the changes were unnecessary and stemmed from the distress she was shoving away as hard as she could.

Then she puttered around her kitchen, cooking a mediocre mincemeat pie that she barely ate a half a slice of before she shoved it away, allowing Crooks a rare opportunity to feast off her plate. He did so enthusiastically before slinking away, her normally boisterous familiar subdued in the wake of her melancholy. 

Pushing herself upward, Hermione approached the table, finally allowing herself to flip through the articles that Malfoy had penned.

Some of them were still marked by his playful cynicism, but an undercurrent of confidence ran through each article. It was ridiculous, she knew, but he’d found his voice as a writer, and he’d really started to excel with  _ Witch Weekly _ .

And it showed. Whenever they collaborated in her office, he was vibrant. A fire had sparked behind his eyes that nothing could seem to extinguish.

He loved his job, and it was really quite fascinating to watch him write his columns.

Hermione never had found the heart to get him his own office. There were open rooms on the floor that he could have, certainly. But they worked well together, bouncing ideas off each other, and though she’d never admit it to Davison, Draco had brought the publication a new perspective that had helped round out the rough edges she’d been unable to polish herself.

When he got particularly excited about an idea, he’d rock forward in his chair, eyes bright and a broad, genuine grin spreading across his face. Though she’d called him ridiculous for requesting a white board to include in her office on which he could jot his ideas, Hermione had indulged him, and she couldn’t help but smile every time he scribbled over it, his neat penmanship descending into messy scrawling.

They’d become friends, something she wouldn’t have been able to believe if anyone had told her what would happen the day he walked into her office. 

Flipping to the last article, her lips pulled into a smile, the bolded title leaping out at her: “How to Woo a New-Age Witch the Right Way: Tips for Respecting and Pleasing a Modern Woman.”

It was cheeky and ridiculous, but so utterly Malfoy that she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. 

Shoulders loosening, she gathered the rest of the articles, crossed the room to her armchair, and settled in for a night of editing Malfoy’s work, an absent smile on her face.

The work week passed rather uneventfully. Malfoy showed up on time every day, taking her criticisms on his articles in stride. Though she handed them all back to him Monday morning, he’d completed revisions by Wednesday afternoon, diligently penning his changes across from her with reading glasses perched on the end of his nose and quill scrawling tidy lines across the parchment.

Of all the articles she’d returned to their authors, his were the first completed, a realisation that made her snort. 

Perhaps she’d send Davison a fruit basket to thank him—give credit where it was due—but she immediately dismissed the notion.

No need to make the git’s ego any larger than it already was.  _ Witch Weekly’s  _ newest reviews had already done as much.

According to Daph’s latest round of analytics, subscriptions had nearly tripled since Draco’s first article had been published all those months ago. And though Hermione hated to admit it, she would be the first to tell anyone why. Draco had established a relatable, honest narrative in his articles, and it was hard not to trust the voice he wove into each column. 

He was a damned charming git, and she found she was no less immune to his charms than any other witch, a fact she carefully avoided dissecting. 

So when he showed up in her office Thursday morning, a distinct line carved deep in his forehead, Hermione immediately could tell something was bothering him.

He settled into the chair across from her, gathering files from his briefcase and carefully arranging them on the portion of her desk that had become his. 

“Morning, Malfoy,” she carefully prodded, peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. 

He gave a noncommittal grunt in response, tapping his quill on the edge of the table.

She allowed the silence to settle between them for the moment before she spoke again. “There’s not a lot to do today; the bulk of your work was finished over the week, particularly since you got your articles through revisions so quickly. I thought we could go over your special feature next month one more time and—”

“My publicist got me an interview with  _ La Sorcière de Paris _ . They’d like to discuss my methods for crafting articles and do a guest column in their March issue,” Malfoy interrupted, his gaze flickering uncertainly up at her. 

Something like dread and disappointment tangled in her stomach, but she pasted on a fake smile, nodding at him as she leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers under her chin. “Well, that’s quite the honour.  _ La Sorcière de Paris  _ is quite the prestigious publication. You ought to be proud.”

Despite the praise, the line in his forehead only deepened. “I suppose.” He chewed on his lip, lost in thought. “I already ran it past Davison; he’s approved of the visit. Said it would be good for cross promotion, that we might get more readers and be able to break into foreign language publication.” His laugh at the idea was hollow, a poor imitation of the warm tone she’d grown used to hearing from him in the privacy of her office.

Nodding, she untwined her fingers, leaning forward to wrap her knuckles on the desk. “Yes, well it does seem that Davison knows best about these sorts of things.” Lacking her usual gusto, Hermione forced out another hollow well wish. “Congratulations! Quite the forward momentum for your career; I’m happy for you.”

She pushed down the pang in her chest when he met her gaze again.

Another fraught silence settled between them, during which she reached for an article—any article, really—to occupy her mind and keep her from dwelling on the fact that Draco might be poached from  _ Witch Weekly _ . 

If she ignored the growing ache, she wouldn’t have to examine what it meant.

The slight rustle of pages turning filled in between them, but Hermione grew acutely aware that she was the only one turning pages but hadn’t taken in a single word her eyes glanced over. Where she ought to find meaning, nothing jumped out at her.

When Malfoy cleared his throat uncomfortably, she jolted, her gaze snapping up to his. “Davison has suggested you come along, in an effort to foster a professional relationship with Giselle, the editor in chief at  _ La Sorcière de Paris _ .”

“I know who Giselle is,” she snapped, unable to control the frustration in her tone. But his gaze bored into hers, a mixture of regret and longing staring back at her before he blinked it away. She cleared her throat, trying again. “I’ve met Giselle before; I’m not overly fond of her, but I’d be happy to accompany you on the trip if it helps advance  _ Witch Weekly. _ ”

For the first time since entering her office, a genuine flash of relief coloured his eyes, and he offered her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Granger. I appreciate that.” He sobered though, eyeing the calendar hanging on the wall behind her. “It looks like you’ve plans for the meeting though; don’t cancel them on my account.”

Frowning, she swiveled in her chair, scrutinising the board on which she’d meticulously outlined all her obligations for the remainder of the month. Other than meetings, due dates, and her trip with Theo on the impending weekend, she didn’t have anything to… 

It dawned on her, then, that he  _ was _ referring to this weekend. The only weekend that she had actively planned anything for her and Theo. She turned back to him, a contemplative twist to her lips, but Draco was already backtracking. “Look, it’s fine. I’ll tell Davison and Blaise that I can handle it myself.” He grimaced, amending, “Alright, I’ll tell Davison I’ve got it under control and convince Blaise to come along. He’s always looking for an excuse to visit France, and I’m sure he’s got a Portkey on retainer for trips at the last minute.”

A disbelieving laugh erupted from her at his rambling. She’d never heard Draco uncomfortable before, and watching him ramble across from her was strangely endearing. “ _ Blaise  _ is your publicist?” At his nod, she huffed another titter. “Well there’s your first mistake.”

Spluttering, Draco scoffed, “Yeah, well it’s not like anyone else would be willing to manage the image of a former Death Eater.” 

The statement made her cringe, regretting the jab, but when she glanced up at Malfoy, a self-satisfied smirk unfurled across his lips. “Alright, make fun of me, you prat.” He gratified her with an answering laugh. Finally, she turned again, staring up at the calendar in contemplation. “My weekend with Theo isn’t all that important…” she mused, allowing the sentence to trail at the end and ignoring the frisson of guilt that rocketed up her spine. “I’ll Floo him to reschedule; I’m sure he’ll understand since it’s for work.”

Twirling the chair back around, Hermione found herself pinned under his gaze, piercing grey seeming to cut straight through her. After a moment of tense silence caught in his hold, he cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as he looked away. “Right, well, only as long as you’re sure. I wouldn’t want to—”

“I’m sure,” she answered, far more forcefully than she’d intended to. In an effort to dispel the tension like a lead weight over her shoulders, she pushed herself backward, rising from her chair. “Inconvenient, but you’ve been a nargle in my ear since you started here, Malfoy. What’s one more weekend?” She infused enough of a teasing tone into her question that she saw the tightness fall away from his own shoulders and he stood, mirroring her stance.

“How about lunch to make up for it? On me,” he clarified, gesturing to the stack of work she’d yet to complete. “And then, if it’s amenable to you, I’ll help you sort through the rest of these dreadful articles before the end of the day.”

Though she didn’t agree with him  _ explicitly _ , she did appreciate the offer for help. After her manic editing session on Sunday to avoid thinking about this very wizard, she’d begun to drag halfway through the week. “You owe me  _ so  _ much more than just lunch, Malfoy.” She turned her best imperious nose-tilt at him, arching her eyebrow comically high.

The effect didn’t phase him though, and he laughed, summoning her coat and holding it aloft in front of him. The routine familiar now, she stepped into it, allowing him to drape the warm material over her shoulders as she settled into its bulk. But he didn’t immediately drop his arms, his fingers digging into the skin just below the fabric. Unbidden, a tremour wracked through her. 

“Name the favour, Granger, and it’s yours.” A forbidden promise laced his words, and for a split second, she forgot about Theo, forgot that she was cancelling her date with her  _ boyfriend  _ to spend a weekend away with this very off limits wizard currently dropping gravelly promises in her ear.

Throat tight, she glanced over her shoulder at him, his eyes laser-focused on her lips, then dropping to the pulse point just below her ear.

_ What would it feel like to turn just enough and press her lips to—  _

The unmistakable sound of papers crashing to the floor just outside Hermione’s office broke the trance, and she glanced away, colour racing to her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

Clearing his throat, he stepped back from her just in time for Daphne to step through the door with the discarded stack of parchment rearranging itself in midair behind her. “Hermione, I had to come tell you; Draco is—”

“Right here and about to buy my lunch in return for his help with the remaining articles before the weekend,” Hermione blurted, interrupting her friend. Their conversation from the weekend still fresh in her mind, she was unsure what brought Daphne to her office.

Arching an eyebrow suspiciously at the space—or lack thereof—between Hermione and Draco, Daphne cleared her throat. “Right, well… I assume he’s informed you of his meeting with  _ La Sorcière de Paris  _ this weekend?”

Hermione nodded, summoning her handbag from the coat rack. “He has, which is why he’s helping me with the articles. I’ll accompany him as brand liason for  _ Witch Weekly _ ; Davison believes this could be the break we need to get into international publishing.” She left the other reason unspoken, that she didn’t want to lose Draco to the magazine, and accompanying him might mitigate any contract negotiation attempts.

The look she and Daphne shared communicated that they were both painfully aware of the lack of binding documents for Malfoy. 

Another grimace prefaced his statement as he sauntered to the door. “That is a bit more self-serving than it is helpful; our Portkey leaves tomorrow morning. Seven sharp.”

He ducked the hand she swatted at his face with a dismayed gasp. “That’s less than  _ fifteen hours _ to complete reviews of each of these articles.”

But he was already halfway to the door when he shouted back at her over his shoulder. “And that, Granger, is why you’ll need lunch _ and  _ my help!” 

He disappeared around Daphne before she could respond, trailing after him, but Daphne’s arm shot out, stopping her in place. “ _ La Sorcière de Paris _ plans to offer him a signing bonus. It’s rare, but his columns are popular.” Her friend squeezed her arm once, something like a plea shining in her eyes. “You’ve got to keep him from accepting.”

Heart plummeting into her stomach, Hermione realised there was far more than just losing one of her most talented staff writers on the line, but she didn’t vocalise it, stuffing it down with the rest of the emotions she’d avoided paying too much attention to. Pasting a false smile on her face, the brightness of it not fooling her best friend, she extricated herself from Daphne’s hold. “I’m on it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading along with this! I've had so much fun posting this fic, and it's largely because you all have been so incredibly kind in your reception of it. Each of your reviews makes me grin like mad at my phone, so thank you for making this such a wonderful experience!   
> As always, credits to my wonderful alphas, mcal and LadyKenz347, and my stellar beta, In Dreams, for their tireless work on this fic. I appreciate them more than I have words to express.


	10. Got it Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday! As promised, here is the early chapter, and now there are only two others remaining! Chapter 11 will be posted Friday and Chapter 12 will follow it on Wednesday!

**Chapter 10:** **_Got It Bad_ **

As much as Hermione tried not to focus on the dueling emotions roiling through her, she couldn't help but withdraw into herself, far more introspective than she'd allowed herself to be in years.

It had filled the cracks of the silence that settled between her and Draco the night before as they worked through the evening on the remaining article drafts, no amount of Draco's jokes enough to completely drive away the rising panic that threatened to pull her under.

He must have noticed it, because when he'd walked her to the lift at the end of the night, he'd tentatively grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her to a stop. "You don't have to go this weekend if you'd rather not. I know you had plans, and it was rather presumptuous of me to expect—"

With a tight smile, she'd cut him off. "It's alright," she lied, the strain in her tone obvious. "It's just been a long day; I know how important this is, for both you and _Witch Weekly_." When his lips pulled down into a deeper frown, a furrow settling between his brows, she tried again. "I'm looking forward to it. It'll be good to get away for the weekend."

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but he let go of her. "Already tired of your healer, Granger? Doesn't bode well for the vow we made, does it?"

The reminder of the magic flared warm on her skin, and judging by the way he absently rubbed at his wrist, it had for him as well. "Well, even if it doesn't work out, you've got your end of the bargain to hold up."

The lift doors clanged open, and she stepped in, his gaze burning a hole in her as she pressed the button for the first floor. Though she moved to hold them open for him to step in, he simply shook his head with a quiet, "You go on, Granger," before he walked away.

The whole trip home, she worried that she'd said the wrong thing.

Now, standing in the atrium of the Ministry while waiting on him, Hermione couldn't help the nerves that danced along her skin. Theo had accepted her cancellation with a smile, though she'd been able to see the disappointment in his eyes.

Part of her wished he'd fought with her. She'd been itching to goad him into one, but Theo hadn't let her. Instead, he'd wrapped her into a tight hug, promising a rain check for the following weekend.

What did it say about her that she was already dreading it?

And what did it say about her when an involuntary grin split across her face when Draco stumbled out of the Floo nearest her, shaking soot off his shoulders. Finally settled, he strode across the room, his easy grin flashing at her. "Good morning, Granger!" Immediately, he pressed a paper travel cup in his hand. "Two creams, two sugars, just the way you like it," he answered before she could even ask.

Taking an appreciative sip, Hermione fell into step with him as they approached the lift. "Awfully kind of you to start my morning with a coffee."

He shrugged as they stepped into the lift, dipping his head at the attendant. "Least I could do after dropping this trip in your life and dragging you to deal with Ministry bureaucracy at—" he tipped his wrist towards himself, pretending to read the time in a manner he'd surely adopted from her "—half seven in the morning."

Her only response was a quiet hum, tightening her hands around the gifted coffee.

When the elevator ground to a halt, she followed him out, his low voice calling back to her. "We're meeting Blaise at the Department of Magical Transportation; he'll have—or _should have_ —secured our Portkey by the time we arrive. We'll travel directly to the French Ministry, which will leave us some time to drop off our bags at the hotel, and then we can sightsee a bit before we have lunch with the _La Sorcière de Paris_ executives."

"Right." Her heels clicked loudly in the empty hallway, punctuating her singular syllable. After a moment, she continued, "And when is our Portkey set to return?"

Draco shrugged, glancing at her as he walked. "It's really up to the Ministry, though I petitioned to return midafternoon on Sunday. The time difference is a bit of a pain, given how far we have to travel." Raising a brow at her, he added, "And I thought it might be nice to extend the visit with a friend."

A friend. Right. Though she smiled at him, the picture of eager excitement, disappointment fluttered in her chest before she chastised herself. She had a boyfriend. "That sounds perfect."

Hermione wanted to add more, but Draco stopped short, pulling open a door with the Ministry seal and the letters D.M.T. emblazoned in shimmering gold font across its middle. Once inside, Blaise was nowhere to be found, so Malfoy approached the counter, stating the reason for their visit and requesting the required documentation.

Despite the secretary's suspicion, she demanded their wands and scuttled away with the paperwork in hand. Moments later, she returned with an old toothbrush dangling limply from her fingers. With a curl to his lip, Malfoy accepted the object, making sure not to touch the bristles.

"You're set to depart this morning at exactly one minute and fifty-eight seconds past seven. You'll return Sunday afternoon at six minutes and three seconds past five in the evening," the woman droned, large eyes batting behind her coke-bottle glasses. "If, for some reason, you were to miss your Portkey, you are to return to the French Ministry of Magic with proper identification. Your wands should suffice, as they have all been registered according to your magical signature."

She paused her long-winded rant to blink owlishly up at them. "Any questions?"

The door crashed open, Blaise all but falling in the door as he rushed to them. "Am I too late?"

The woman didn't answer, instead rolling her eyes and outstretching her palm. When Blaise gripped her fingers and dipped a light kiss onto her knuckles, a blush stained her cheeks, and Hermione's jaw fell open. The woman spluttered, searching for her words, and finally squeaked out, "Your wand, please, sir."

With a charming smile, Blaise released her hand, palming his wand and settling it in her outstretched hand. "Here you are, Miss…?"

Blushing furiously again, the woman gasped. "Fawley. Avonlea Fawley." A nervous titter escaped the woman as she backed away. "But you can call me Lea."

"Lea it is, then." Blaise winked, likely sending the poor girl down the hall with heart palpitations.

Once Avonlea passed through the swinging door, Draco whistled under his breath. "Christ, Zabini, we need the receptionist to survive long enough to bring your wand back. Try not to kill her with your charm."

Blaise settled beside Hermione, hip checking her as he stopped and sharing a conspiratorial grin with her. "I was late; it's only right to make up for it by making her feel special."

Even Hermione laughed with a quick roll of her eyes. "You're incorrigible. And what about Ginny?"

A quick flash of longing passed over his gaze, his brow puckering, but Zabini covered it quickly. "You heard the witch; it's casual. Ginny does as she pleases, and I do the same."

Hermione doubted the truth to his statement, but before she could press further, Avonlea returned, extending Blaise's wand with another throaty chuckle. "You're all set. The Portkey will depart in precisely two minutes. If you'll follow me this way, I'll escort you to the departure point." Without waiting for them, Avonlea turned, opening an inward swinging door that had been set into the wall inconspicuously.

Each of them filed through; Hermione in the lead, she turned to Draco, who shrugged.

In front of her, Avonlea responded, "Extra precautions given the war. First-time international business travellers are subjected to extra screening." She leveled a glare at Hermione when Blaise slipped behind her, a hand low on her back to avoid bumping into her. "Mister Malfoy and Mister Zabini have travelled abroad for business before, but since you, Miss Granger, have not…" She didn't finish, allowing her haughty judgement to fill in the silence.

With a deep, steadying breath that calmed the rage Avonlea's look ignited in her, Hermione stalked forward. It was against her moral code to pit women together, and she'd be damned if she let a stranger allow her to do the same.

Instead, she took one of the indicated spots across from Draco, who settled the toothbrush on a plain white pedestal in the middle of the departure point. "Thanks for your help, Avonlea," Hermione said, sending a genuine smile only _just_ coloured by irritation at the receptionist.

She was greeted with a noncommittal sigh. Avonlea turned to Blaise, addressing her next statement to him. "In thirty seconds, your Portkey will depart. Please place your fingers on the instrument. Do not remove your hand until all movement has ceased or risk being splinched." A measure of glee coloured that statement, and Hermione thought perhaps the woman wasn't being territorial after all.

Perhaps she was just quite mad.

Hermione wasn't afforded any further introspection though, because shortly after she laid her finger on the Portkey, it glowed a bright, iridescent blue and swept them away.

By the time they'd sorted a room mixup, Hermione was knackered, and they agreed to split up for quick naps before reconvening for lunch. Though part of Hermione was disappointed that they wouldn't get any exploration in before their meal, the larger part of her begged for at least an hour of rest.

When she pushed her door open after fumbling with the wand lock, she dropped her bag, her disbelief a physical presence within her.

Her room was adorned in swaths of luxurious white fabric, accents of red interwoven in the thick golden curtain cascading to the floor.

But it was the view out the window that took her breath away.

Beyond the balcony, bracketed by the red tulips sprouting from the flower pots draped over either side of the wrought iron railing, the Eiffel Tower loomed, its spire reaching up to touch the sky.

It was the most beautiful thing in the entire world, and she would take any opportunity to see the city again—even if it meant cancelling her plans with Theo.

Abandoning her bags at the door, Hermione crossed the room in an excited skip. She didn't pause to admire the California king bed stacked high with pillows or gape at the menu that had been prepared personally for her. No, she had eyes only for the balcony and the scene beyond.

It was silly, but her fingers trembled with excitement when she pushed the double glass doors open, instantly inhaling the slightly floral scent that seemed to bath the hotel. The magical floors, they'd been told upon admittance, had been charmed to smell fresh and floral at all times; unfortunately, according to the pompous desk clerk, Paris often smelled due to vagrants of both Muggle and magical varieties.

Hermione was of the opinion that those were the people who society owed the most, but she'd stifled her opinion to avoid offending the French.

She'd fight those battles another day.

With a contented sigh, Hermione flopped into one of the painted white iron chairs dotting either side of the table. It was already set with a full tea service, but quick inspection yielded a freshly pressed breakfast roast waiting for her, and she took a deep sip, watching the day settle fully over Paris.

Bugger the magazine; she wanted to be here all day, basking in the sunshine hundreds of kilometres away from all her problems.

Of course, just as she settled into the relaxation fully, she heard the click of the balcony doors next to hers and a familiar voice drawling her name.

"Granger, I'd have imagined finding you out here with a book at the very least. Maybe one of those articles I saw tucked away for editing in your briefcase."

She peeled her eyes open, meeting Malfoy's gaze as he peered over at her, the Eiffel Tower framed just over his shoulder.

It shouldn't have made her heart flutter, but it did.

"Go away, Malfoy. I'm taking a moment to pretend that the world doesn't exist." She closed her eyes again, waiting to hear the door click close again, but when she didn't, she opened one eye, finding his back turned to her as he observed the landscape.

He didn't respond to her immediately, allowing silence to fall between them. She allowed her eye to drift close again, fully prepared to ignore him as she relaxed, but he interrupted her just as she settled in. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

It was, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it. This experience was so divorced from the romance of her date with Theo, but it felt so much more like _her_. The coffee, the private balcony—minus Malfoy lurking on his own—and the peace in her soul… it felt right.

There was still so much back home she needed to figure out, but here she could just be herself for a while.

Summoning the cushion from the other seat, Hermione tucked it behind her head and propped her legs up on the seat, quickly drifting off into a comfortable slumber.

The knock on her balcony door came entirely too soon, and she grumbled to herself, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Go away."

She instantly recognised the answering chuckle as Malfoy's. "No can do, Granger. We've got a lunch date with Giselle in an hour; I assume you want time to freshen up from the trip and your impromptu nap in the sun."

Groaning, she lowered her arm, glaring up at him. "Why do you have to be right?"

"Because I'm _always_ right. You think you'd know that by now, but alas, I am more than happy to remind you any time you require." He tossed a cheeky wink in her direction and waved his hand inside. "Come on, then. We can Apparate from here, but the restaurant is still about two blocks from the nearest Apparition point. We'll need to leave enough time to walk."

With a long-suffering sigh, she unfolded herself from the chair, passing him as she entered the room, but he stopped her beside him, a gentle hand on her hip. She wrenched her head upright, eyes lingering on his lips a second too long before she met his gaze, her brows drawn down in question.

"You've a—" he reached out, plucking something from her hair just above her ear. "A petal," he finished, his voice taking on a gravelly quality that did funny things to her stomach.

His touch was too gentle, his eyes entirely too dark, and with a breathily muttered, "Thanks," she pushed past him and locked herself in the bathroom to prepare for lunch, refusing to think about what had just transpired between them.

Lunch went well. Almost _too_ well, if Hermione was honest.

Giselle Leblanc was a vivacious witch, flirty and forthright and not afraid to play for what she wanted.

Right now, she wanted Draco Malfoy.

Throughout the whole lunch, she made innuendo after innuendo, both in French and English, and Hermione watched as Draco grew redder and redder beneath his collar, trying—and failing—to turn the conversation back to the magazine.

Finally, after the check had arrived and Hermione had paid her tab—conveniently forgotten by the marketing manager, though she promised to reimburse her meal later—Draco had managed to steer them back to the task at hand.

"Giselle, thank you for your hospitality," he'd started, neatly folding his napkin over his plate, signalling that he was through with the meal and ready to conduct business. "I understand that you'd like to discuss a collaboration between _La Sorcière de Paris_ and _Witch Weekly._ "

" _Oui_ ," the woman replied, her husky voice caressing the word as she locked eyes with Draco. "Although I should say that my interest in collaboration lies solely with you, Monsieur Malfoy."

The colour heightened on Draco's neck, and had it been under any other circumstances, Hermione might have laughed that the self-professed playboy was uncomfortable under the attention.

Water his lifeline, Draco took another deep sip before he continued. "I appreciate that, Giselle. However, I'm quite happy with _Witch Weekly_ , but I'd be honoured if we could—"

Blaise exchanged a glance with Hermione, whose blood boiled inextricably as Giselle reached across the table and squeezed Draco's hand. "For you, mon cherie, anything."

He appeared almost embarrassed as he shook her hand off, casting a sideways look at Hermione before he answered, taking the lead at the slight inclination of Hermione's head. As if the witch would listen to her even if she tried to negotiate anything. " _Witch Weekly_ is prepared to offer you a shareholder portion of our magazine in exchange for equal input in yours. In addition, we'd like to develop a cultural column that helps wizards and witches understand and navigate different cultures since _La Sorcière de Paris_ is so renowned for its sociopolitical awareness."

Hermione had to swallow her beam, proud of the diplomatic way he approached the negotiation, though it didn't surprise her at all given his pureblood upbringing. He was a natural, schmoozing just enough, but the woman's laugh startled her.

"You're so cosmopolitan, with all your fancy words and negotiations. We'd be happy to work with you." Giselle finally turned her gaze to Hermione, gracing her with a smile that was only slightly pinched at the corners. "You've done a fine job of making a respectable periodical of the drivel that _Witch Weekly_ used to be." Aiming another smile at Draco, Giselle swept up. "Miss Granger, we'll be in touch. Monsieur Malfoy, would you be so kind as to walk me to the coat check?"

Ever the pureblood host, Draco stood immediately, buttoning his jacket and escorting the woman away, hand placed respectably in the middle of her back.

Hermione didn't realise she was staring critically after them until Blaise coughed lightly. "Well, that went… well?"

Humming, Hermione gathered her hand bag, trying to wipe the jealousy from her face. "We got what we came for. That's what matters."

A noncommittal noise from Blaise drew her gaze upward, the scrutiny in his deep chocolate eyes pinning her to the spot. "Did we though?" He stood, offering her his hand without further comment, and though she was wary of him, she accepted, allowing him to tuck her fingers into the crook of his elbow. As they walked towards Draco and Giselle, the latter laughing and leaning into Draco's space, Blaise murmured, "Be careful, Granger. Draco's not the type to be so open so willingly." He pulled her to a stop, his normally playful demeanour serious. "Don't hurt my friend."

Then he was gone, her retorts left to wither on her tongue.

 _Don't hurt his friend_? What did that even mean?

But then Draco was at her side, whisking her away to a library tour that Blaise had declined by proxy as "far too swotty for even himself to enjoy."

They'd spent the afternoon in each other's company, carefully perusing the shelves with few words spoken between them. Hermione had grown so comfortable in Malfoy's presence that it didn't strike her as strange until the baker at a patisseri had commented on young love.

She'd been quick to deny the observation, but Draco had simply smiled back, gaze shuttered.

Towards the end of the day, walking along the streets of Paris as the sun set behind them, Hermione nibbled at a chocolate croissant. Draco hadn't stopped her from giving the last few galleons she'd had in her bag to a small child who didn't have enough for gelato, but she didn't mind the small treat compared to his large helping of gelato.

"So," he broke the silence, glancing sideways at her. "Today went well."

A definitive nod of her head. "It did. Davison will be pleased that we managed to secure the partnership. Imagine the stars in his eyes when he sees the galleons."

For the first time all day, Draco's laugh was genuine, uninhibited by the awkwardness of the lunch meeting with Giselle. Taking a deep breath, Hermione took the plunge, pressing for the information she really wanted. "You know, Daphne said that Giselle intended to offer you a contract to transfer to their publication. Permanently." She peeked at him from beneath lowered lashes as they walked. "Big office, regular feature-length articles. The whole of it. You'd be a big deal in the publishing world. Could even work up to an editor position with them, probably quite easily given the way Giselle was eyeing you today."

Snorting, Draco took a large bite of his gelato, grimacing at the chill of it before answering. "I suppose so, yeah." He kicked a rock out of the path, eyes carefully avoiding her. "If you want that sort of thing."

"And you don't?" she mused aloud. "I'd have assumed that was exactly what you were looking for. You know, a way to restore the Malfoy name to its former glory, but this time with literature!" She said the final bit with an awkward shaking of her hands to remove some of the sting, earning her a quiet chuckle.

They rounded a corner, street lamps clicking on and illuminating the path. "If you read the other, more salacious tabloids, you'd be completely accurate in that assessment." He shrugged, depositing the last of his unfinished gelato in a bin. "But I find myself quite content where I'm currently at in my life—it helps that I'm rather adept at the position currently afforded to me."

"Yes, you're a bastion of relationship advice for women the whole wizarding world over."

Suddenly, he was just beside her, bumping his hip lightly with hers, a habit she'd grown irritatingly fond of. "Whether you want to admit how good I am at my job or not, I'm the reason you have a boyfriend right now," Draco drawled, the space between them charged.

His proximity robbed her of the words she meant to answer with, and she was lost, staring into his eyes, everything else quieting to a dull roar around them.

"Granger?" He was so close, his breath fanning over her face, and just as she was about to let her eyes flutter shut and lean into him, he broke the eye contact to glance over her shoulder.

Sounds rushed back and sense returned, heat rushing up her cheeks as she leaned backwards, redistributing the weight from the balls of her feet.

It was ridiculous to be disappointed, but she was all the same.

"Do you hear that? The music?" He searched the growing shadows, and suddenly, he took off at a run, dragging her behind him.

She'd abandoned her heels blocks ago, casting a cushioning charm on the soles of her feel after Draco's warning about glass on the street. Now, she was thankful for the aid of magic because he tore through the streets, her hair whipping about them and a wild smile on his face as he followed the sounds of the bass.

Finally, after what felt like several blocks of breathless chase, he pulled her to a stop, the flashing lights of a nightclub casting the fine planes of his face in sharp relief.

For just a moment, Hermione let herself admire him—and admit to herself just how alluring she found him—but he didn't stand still for long, striding forward and speaking in rapid French with the doorman. When the large man stepped aside, holding the door open for them, Draco turned, pure joy in his grin. "Come on, Granger!"

Stepping backwards with her hands raised, Hermione shook her head. "As much fun as that sounds—and believe me, it does—I think I'm going to head back to the room." She punctuated her statement with a yawn. "It's been a long day."

His expression dropped, but after another quick exchange with the bouncer, Draco approached her, something like a pout forming on his lips. "Granger, one dance. That's all I want. I'll buy you a drink, we'll dance to one song, and then we'll go back to the hotel."

The earnestness in his tone nearly swayed her, but then she remembered Theo, her emotions warring with her, and she shook her head. "I really shouldn't. I—"

But then Draco was there, sweeping a strand of hair from her forehead. "One dance. I promise to be on my best behavior."

There was an undercurrent in that promise that she wouldn't allow herself to acknowledge, admiring the amber flecks in his gunmetal gaze, but she found herself nodding, allowing him to coax her into the depths of the club.

The lights were lower than she was used to, but Hermione's experience was limited to evenings out at the Leaky with Harry and Ron, not posh clubs in the heart of Paris. After flashing his wand at yet another bouncer, Draco pulled her through a warded area and into a less crowded room. The lights were still low, but the music was slower, the sea of bodies on the dance floor thinner, though the space between them had seemed to evaporate.

Hermione couldn't tell where one person ended and the next began, a thought which sent her pulse racing.

Almost as though he sensed her unease, Draco reached back, snaring her hand in his as he dragged her to the bar. He kept the order simple, a gin and tonic for her and a whisky neat for himself. Immediately upon receiving the beverage, Hermione took a hearty sip, trying to fortify herself against the nerves that were palpable in the shake of her hand.

She allowed him to lead her through the club by his hold on her wrist, selecting a table near the dance floor where the sound was just muted enough that they could talk.

"You seem to know this place," she half shouted, but he waved his wand over them, further dulling the sound, and a flush spread across her cheeks, feeling foolish she hadn't thought to do that herself.

"Blaise and I came here once or twice before the war when our parents went on holiday together. I'd forgotten about it until I heard the music." His gaze rooted her to the table, the way it traced the hair that had fallen free of her plait and clung to her chin and cheeks. "I thought you might enjoy the opportunity to unwind after today."

It wasn't until he'd mentioned it that she realized how tight her shoulders were, the nerves she'd fought all day manifesting in the way she held herself, and she forced herself to take another drink and relax the hunch she'd worked herself into. "It is quite nice, if nightclubs are your thing," she allowed, warmth spreading through her at the laughter in his eyes.

"Quite nice," he repeated, shaking his head as he looked at her. "You know, Granger, I think you're the only one that can turn a phrase like that into a dual-edged sword." The song shifted, the roiling beat of a salsa reverberating through the air. Suddenly, he rocketed upright, extending his hand to her. "Come on."

Involuntarily, her gaze scanned over him, taking in the carefree tilt of his head.

With a jolt, she realised she liked him like this—fun, laughing, discarding that cynical exterior for just a moment—and she placed her hand in his.

Loosening a deep breath and following her heart for _once_ , she joined him on the dance floor.

It was fun, at first. He twirled her outright, not fussing when she stepped on his toes. He placed a hand on her hip to guide her into the motion, helping her to find her rhythm in the song, and soon they were moving in sync.

Through it all, his attention was locked on her.

Not the wealth of other, impossibly beautiful women in the room. Her hair was wild, her sun dress wrinkled from the frenzy of the day, but he couldn't look away from her.

When her tongue darted out to wet her lips, his eyes followed it, darkening as he stepped into her space.

As though someone was waiting for the shift, the music slowed, an alluring downbeat punctuating the music, and he led her into fluid motion.

Maybe it was his pureblood upbringing—perhaps he'd had lessons in his youth or maybe he was just naturally gifted—but the way his body rolled against hers, their hips brushing intimately, stole Hermione's breath away.

It had nothing to do with the grind of the rhythm and everything to do with the intensity in his eyes.

After several spins, he abandoned all pretenses of the dance, instead leveraging his hand against her lower back to press him into her, his other hand tangling in the loose hairs at the base of her neck.

Gods, she wanted to kiss him.

And suddenly he was closing the gap between them, intent on eliminating all the distance between them, but Theo's face flashed through her mind, and she pulled away, sucking in desperate gasps.

"We ought to go—Blaise will be wondering where we are," she blurted, eyes still trained on his full lips, mind screaming at her to shut up and kiss him, but when his gaze shuttered and his lips pulled into a frown, she extricated herself from his hold and made for the door.

The Apparition point wasn't far from the club, and they walked in silence, Draco settling his suit jacket over her shoulders when a chill wracked through her. Carefully looping her arm through his when he offered, they disappeared with a pop, reappearing around the corner from the hotel.

But she didn't let go, squeezing tighter as they walked, and finally she gathered the courage to murmur, "Thank you for tonight. It was… everything I didn't know I needed."

Despite the disappointment roiling off him in waves, he smiled down at her. "You're welcome, Granger."

By the time they made it to the hotel, the lobby had cleared and the lifts were slow to arrive. Instead, they made for the stairs.

"You're a lovely dancer," she offered as they climbed a flight, the exercise so soon after dancing that the statement came out breathier than she'd have liked.

She didn't miss the way that Draco's eyes flashed to her. "As are you."

They ascended three more flights, Hermione still clinging to his arm. As they reached Draco's door, Hermione found herself reluctant to go, a nervous twist to her stomach.

"Right, well—" she shrugged Draco's jacket from her shoulders "—thank you for this."

He accepted it with a wry smile, their fingers brushing, and she couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around his middle, his lean muscles enticing beneath her fingertips. "It really was a lovely evening."

His agreement vibrated through her, and it was all she could do to pull away.

She spoke again, rooted to the spot as he focused solely on her. "I really ought to get to bed, then." When he made no move to stop her, she turned, her own ridiculous disappointment flooding through her.

A barely-there curse was her only warning before he scooped her into his arms and pressed her to the wall.

Draco kissed her like a man starved.

Sealing his lips to hers, he didn't ask for permission, didn't place his hands politely along her waist or claim her lips in a chaste embrace. One hand delved into her hair, tugging at the hairs tickling her neck, while the other gripped her waist as though she might disappear entirely if he didn't anchor himself to her.

And it took her no prompting to kiss him back, to devour him with equal enthusiasm, opening her mouth with a gasp to invite him in. She raked her nails down his back over his shirt, swallowing the groan she dragged out of him and leveraging herself to prop one leg over his hip.

Only the ding of the lift down the hall stopped them, and they sprang apart, both of their chests heaving.

Draco looked as if he'd been hit by a rogue bludger, and Hermione was sure she wasn't far off.

She found her voice first, her fingers floating to her lips. "We ought to get to bed, yeah?"

For his part, Draco appeared to be lost of all words, but he nodded all the same, backing towards his door with a sexy yet dumbfounded grin on his face. Finally when his hand found the knob, he managed a whispered, "Goodnight, Granger," before he was gone.

On a high, Hermione let herself into her hotel room, closing the door with a decisive _click_ before she slouched against it for a moment, sucking in deep breaths to steady herself. When her knees no longer threatened to give out beneath her, she pushed herself away.

She crossed the room in a daze, leaving a trail of discarded items as she went: bag, one heel, then the other. When she finally made it to the sofa, she slouched down on it, fingers going to her lips, still tingling from the voracity of their kiss. "What the hell _was_ that?" She laughed to herself, disbelief and delight tinging it. "And _why_ do I want to do it again?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I've been so excited for this chapter all week! I hope you enjoyed! Drop me a line below and let me know :)
> 
> Thank you so much to my alphas, LadyKenz347 and mcal, for their wonderful support and help on this fic! I'm eternally grateful for them and their wisdom as I've navigated writing this. It wouldn't be the same without them! Prepare yourself for an INCREDIBLE Marauder's era fic from LadyKenz and go check out mcal's new fic, a Remadora set during canon, called Love and War!
> 
> Second thanks go to In_Dreams, my incredible beta who is literally one of the best people on this planet. I'm so glad for her friendship and advise! If you haven't started reading her WIP, Nocturnus, go check it out!


	11. Vow Fulfilled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! Friendly reminder that this is based on the romcom _The Ugly Truth_ and therefore is supposed to be an over-the-top, cheesy romance. You're under no obligation to keep reading if you don't enjoy that sort of thing. Have a lovely weekend and thanks for reading!

**Chapter 11:** **_Vow Fulfilled_ **

_She’d kissed Malfoy_.

Hermione flopped into her oversized bed, sinking into the cushion with a disbelieving groan. Again, she lifted her fingertips to her lips, running them over the plump curve that Draco had bit teasingly.

She could still hear the echo of his groan, feel the solidity of him against her chest, and she pushed herself upright, staring at the thin wall separating her room from Draco’s. He was _right there,_ and suddenly everything she’d been unsure of clicked into place.

 _How could she have been so_ stupid?

It’d been Malfoy all along.

Acknowledging it sent a thrill of anticipation through her core, and before she realised what she was doing, she was darting across her hotel room, reaching for the door handle, when a knock sounded on the door. 

Her heart was in her throat, stomach tying into delicious anticipatory knots. _He was here_. 

Oh gods, Malfoy had come after her.

She shouldn’t have been excited, but Hermione couldn’t quell the racing in her heart, the way it vied to escape the long column of her throat as she raced across the room on the balls of her feet to check herself in the mirror. Rocking to a stop, she ran a quick hand over her hair, checked to ensure her breasts look perky and inviting—she didn’t care how ridiculous it was; she wanted to look good—and then tiptoed back across the room and opened the door with a beaming smile on her face.

But the expression fell away, disappointment a bitter tang in her mouth.

“Hello, love.” 

“Theo?” Dropping her hand from the door handle, she took an involuntary step back, trying to process the new information, but Theo slipped through the open doorway. He deposited the bottle of cheap red wine in his hand on the entry table, his free hand settling on the curve of her waist in an altogether too-familiar gesture that she was finally admitting to herself didn’t feel right. When he pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek, she closed her eyes against the guilt.

Gods, why did this disappointment hurt so bad? 

Pulling away, he scanned her features, a quizzical pull to his brow. “You were expecting someone else?”

 _Yes_. “No! Just—” 

“Surprised?” he intoned, squeezing her hip before he moved past her. “I knew how disappointed you were when you had to cancel, so I thought I’d bring the weekend to you—I still had Portkey access from our last trip, so I thought it would be romantic.” 

She quickly arranged the disappointment on her features into a tight smile before she turned around, watching him make himself at home in her hotel room. His trainers rested one atop the other near the breakfast bar where he’d toed them off, laces still done up, and he summoned two of the champagne flutes from the bar as he watched her. 

Pouring two glasses, he settled on the bed where she’d _finally_ admitted to herself her feelings for Malfoy were real only moments before and another pang clenched her heart. Theo was a good guy—just not the guy for her—and it was made all the more abundantly clear as he prattled on at her while she stared at him with her mouth hanging open. 

“When I heard Daphne talking about _La Sorcière de Paris_ , I assumed you’d be staying in the city. Thankfully, Avonlea has become a close friend due to my work travels and…” 

Theo kept talking, spreading out across the mattress as he lounged with the glass of wine. She nodded to herself, trying to appear as though she was interested when her mind—and _heart_ —were in the room just next to hers. “Besides, I just remembered how much you love spontaneous trips and this could be one we shared together.”

Bristling, Hermione closed her eyes. She _didn’t_ love the spontaneous trips. She loved her order and routine and _mundane life focused on the career she enjoyed_. The career Theo continued to disparage as simply the magazine. 

But he finally slowed, pushing upright to gaze at her quizzically; the sudden motion sent the wine in his glass sloshing over the edge, and she thanked whatever gods were listening for the interruption.

“Bugger,” he muttered, dabbing at the bright red spot blooming on his shirt. “Well, looks like this will be coming off quicker than I expected.”

Hermione huffed a mortified half-laugh in response, quickly standing and crossing to the door. “I’ll go get some more towels from the front desk; you just wait here!”

His confused voice followed her as she raced to the door. “Hermione, wait—just call for a house elf!”

She didn’t stop her frantic power walk when the door closed behind her, heading towards the lift with her head down, but she’d barely made it four steps when she crashed into a very solid wall of flesh.

“Oh gods, I’m so sorry,” she huffed, steadying herself on their forearms. But when she finally looked up, her breath caught in her throat, a hungry, grey gaze locked on her. “Draco.”

The smirk that unfurled at her breathy recognition of him was nearly her undoing. And when he cupped her chin in his hand, breath fanning over her face, she was sure he’d be able to hear the thundering of her heart. “Where are you going, love?”

She wanted to respond that she was coming to find him—that she _wanted_ to come find him—but she couldn’t bring herself to lie. Not to Draco. Instead, she leaned into him, breathing in the warmth of his scent. 

Just as Draco softened into her, the click of her door behind her sounded, and he stiffened, the soft contours of his body she’d been settling into hardening into stone as Theo’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Hermione, I summoned a house elf so you don’t have to—” Abruptly, his shouting stopped as he stepped out into the hallway. At some point, Draco had stepped away from her, arms hanging limply at his side and jaw wound tightly shut. 

She turned, her motions robotic, and smiled tightly at Theo. “Thanks, Theo. Saved me a trip to the lobby.”

Nodding, he strode forward, the flaps of his unbuttoned Oxford hanging loose as he wrapped an arm around her with a warm smile. “You’re welcome, love.” The endearment that had been so welcome moments before grated on her nerves, but Theo quickly turned to Draco, schooling his expression. “Malfoy.”

“Nott,” Draco returned, his tone poisonous. “I was just coming to inform Hermione of some changes to our itinerary. Lucky for me that she ran headlong into me.” He couldn’t hide the pang of sorrow in his eyes when he looked at her.

Draco’s explanation must have sufficed for Theo because the rigidity melted from him, squeezing Hermione’s shoulders tightly before freeing her. “Right then. I’ll just give you both a minute to work out travel details, and I’ll see you inside!” His lips felt like sandpaper against her skin when he brushed them against her, but then he was gone, the door clicking shut and the hall falling silent.

“Draco, I—”

He held up a hand, a tic in his jaw giving away his feelings. “Don’t bother, Granger. I get it.” Turning, he shoved his hands in his pockets, making towards his hotel room door. 

Heart in her throat, she scrambled after him, coming to a stop between him and his door. “Wait. _Please._ ” Finally, he stopped, staring down at her, his quirked brow waiting for a response. “He knocked on the door right after we separated. I thought—” Her breath caught in her throat, but she pushed forward. “I thought it was you.” 

At that, he scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Right, and I suppose we’re all interchangeable now.” The glare he pierced her with was withering; she’d never felt so small before. “I can’t believe you, Granger. All this drivel about falling in love and being a positive example for the future of the wizarding world and you can’t even take your own advice.”

Leaning over her, he unlocked his door and pushed it inward, trying to step past her, but she forced one last bit of courage into her voice. “Tell me what happened before. Out here.” She searched his face, but he’d perfected that mask again, the one that he was wearing when she first saw him in the _Witch Weekly_ office. “What was that kiss?” 

His lips softened incrementally, a harsh sigh expelling the defeat written clearly on his face. 

After several seconds, she pushed him again. “Does Theo need to go?”

The mention of the other man broke Draco’s spell, and he shook his head. “Nah, Granger. No sense throwing it all away when you’ve worked so hard for it.” He chuffed her under the chin, a familiar action that she desperately wanted to lean into. “I’ll see you back in London.”

He moved into his room, his back to her, and Hermione’s heart knocked painfully. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say about all of this?” Her hand fluttered, motioning between them, but he just laughed.

When he turned to face her, he’d carefully schooled his expression again. “What do you want me to say?”

Hermione couldn’t help the way her shoulders slumped. Everything. She wanted him to say _everything_ that she could feel between them, to put a name to it that she couldn’t bring herself to, but he just shook his head again and turned away, flopping down in the bed with his back to her.

Allowing the door to click shut between them felt like the end of something Hermione had just discovered.

She couldn’t immediately return to Theo. Not when he would expect her to be happy and excited to see him, to be just as invested in this relationship as he is.

After several laps around the hall, down two stories and back, her nerves had finally settled, and she waved her wand over the lock for admittance into the room.

As soon as the door opened, Theo looked up from the bed, a brilliant smile tilting his lips upward. “There you are! I was worried about you. Shouldn’t be, though; you’ve always got it all together.”

It was annoying just how clear it was that he knew nothing about her, but she accepted the proffered glass of wine, taking a deep slug of it before answering him. “Sorry about that—he wanted to talk about the meeting today and update me on travel plans. It’s been a long day.” 

Theo unfolded himself from his lounge on the bed and crossed the room to her. 

As he approached, Hermione allowed herself to admire him. He was fit—clearly he took care of himself. He was successful and kind, if a little oblivious to the sort of woman she was. Though that was mostly her fault; she’d not been honest with him from the start, and therein was the problem.

Theo didn’t know who she was; he didn’t know the little quirks that made her tick or the pet peeves she buried whenever she was around him. Everything he knew about her had been filtered to create the perfect image she presented whenever he was around her.

“But now it’s over and we can spend some time together.” Featherlight touches skated over her arm before he wove his fingers through hers. “Is that a new dress?” His voice rumbled down on her, eyes soft as he studied her. “I like it; it’s—”

“Theo, why do you like me?” she blurted, interrupting him. 

Twin spots of colour rose to his cheeks as he stepped back, bewilderment shining in his eyes. “Well, I—um, you’re beautiful, first of all.” He wrapped one of her loose curls around his finger, allowing it to spring back before he added, “And you’re so bloody smart; sometimes it’s a little intimidating.”

A flutter of warmth awakened in her belly, and Hermione smiled, squeezing his hand. For a moment, she allowed herself to relax, to forget the rest of the evening and focus on Theo, his soft smile and endearing innocence, but then he continued.

“Your magazine is so important to you, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I love how hard you work to make it more than the silly columns that you have to publish.” Blood roared in her ears as he turned, summoning the wine and refilling both glasses. “And you laugh at all of my jokes! You don’t try to demand control of what we do during the weekends and actually let me plan dates.” 

She nodded, bitter tears springing to her eyes as she took another hearty sip of her wine and pulled her hand away under the guise of drawing out the chair that accompanied the room’s dining set.

Theo stood before her, a dopey grin on his face as he went on. “It’s so nice, honestly, to feel like my effort is appreciated—my ex-girlfriend was absolutely _manic_ about planning everything to the last minute. You wouldn’t even believe; she had _timetables_ for her weekends, too. Never a minute of down time to take her on a nice—”

Hitting her breaking point at the growing fury in her chest, Hermione tossed the rest of her wine back.

Stopping in the middle of whatever inane sentence he was about to prattle next, Theo watched her, eyes growing wide. “Hermione, are you alright?”

She barked a short laugh with a nod. “Quite.” A wave of her wand summoned the wine to her, and she filled her glass to the brim. “You see, I’m _exactly_ like that.”

Bewildered, he tried to keep up with her, but failed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but exactly like _what_?” 

Steeling her spine, Hermione canted her head at him, chewing on her lip before she answered. “I _live_ by my timetables. Everyone knows it—if not for my timetables, I’d be lost.” She sniffed. “And I _am_ lost without them. I’ve stayed up late every night for _weeks_ just to make it through my work in time.”

The colour that rose to his cheeks not so many minutes earlier drained, and Theo stared at her, mouth agape. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t mean to—”

But she waved him off, pacing through the room as she sipped at her wine. “It’s not even _your_ fault. I’ve been this—this—” Flapping her hand wildly, she turned to face him, finally able to breathe with the void between them. “This _facade_ of myself, all done up in Pansy’s pretty dresses and grimacing through a performance to keep you interested in me.”

He didn’t respond other than to blink owlishly at her, so she dropped onto the end of the bed. “And it’s _exhausting_.” Plucking away at an imagined loose string in the duvet, she finished, “So no, you don’t really know me at all.”

Silence.

And then, “Maybe that’s why I’m not happy at all. I haven’t been myself at all in the eight months we’ve been together.”

Almost as though he’s released a string holding him upright, Theo sagged, and inexplicably, a relieved grin crossed his face. “Thank Merlin.”

Startling, Hermione glanced up at him. “Pardon?”

Theo plopped into the chair she’d vacated only moments before, depositing the wine on the table with a distasteful grimace. “I’ve got to be honest; I haven’t been myself either.”

Hermione’s mind spun, trying to keep up with his revelation. “Then who _have_ you been?” 

Shrugging, Theo leaned forward, scrubbing his face harshly with his palms. “Honestly?”

Despite herself, a small titter escaped her at his question. “I think we owe each other that at this point.” Impossibly, it feels like a weight lifted off her chest as he summoned his wallet. From within, he extracted several folded pages which look suspiciously like— 

Excerpts from _Witch Weekly_. 

The colour returned to his cheeks, spreading to the planes of his chest she could see peeking out of the open lapels of his shirt. “See, I was taking advice from someone I’m not sure I should have been listening to all along.” A flick of his wand sent the articles flying towards her.

As they settled on the bed, laughter overtook her. She picked the stack up, rifling through each article, all of them containing the same byline.

_Draco Malfoy, Special Contributor._

Theo’s pained laughter answered hers. “It’s ridiculous, I know. I saw one of his shows when I first moved here and thought, even though he was rough around the edges, he made some good points.” He shrugged. “It was almost serendipitous when I met you and the magazine announced he would be a contributor for the foreseeable future.” 

It was unbelievable, but Hermione felt lighter than she had in _months_ . As she scrutinised the articles closer, she realised that each of them had been written towards the beginning of her relationship with Theo. _Before_ Malfoy had started to soften his approach to relationships. “So you’ve been taking the advice of his articles and, what, applying it to our relationship?”

A mischievous grin curled his lips. “Essentially?” He sighed, sobering. “Look, it’s not that you’re not great, but I don’t have the best track record with women, and I thought if I—”

“Changed who you were a bit you might be able to make it work?” she finished, smirking through her embarrassment. “Sounds familiar.” 

“We really buggered this up, didn’t we?” His tone was wistful.

But Hermione couldn't focus on his words, her mind on a certain blond-haired prat just on the other side of the wall from her. Leaping off the bed, a torrent of words streaming from her mouth, Hermione explained, “Maybe if we’d been honest with each other from the start, this could have turned out better, but I—” she paused, unwilling to hurt him, but he raised his hand.

“Go after him, Hermione.” A grin split his face as he enveloped her in a quick hug. “Just uh—one quick question.” He stepped back, a sheepish glint to his expression. “Your employee, Luna Lovegood? She, uh… well, she came to Mungo’s a few months ago for an injury—the nature of which I can’t disclose due to my position,” he intoned seriously. But then his eyes lit up again. “And, well… she’s been by a few times afterwards as a volunteer and we’ve become friends.”

Gods, this could not be any weirder, but Hermione managed a laugh at both of their expenses. “Theodore Nott, have you fallen in love with Luna Lovegood?”

He refused to meet her gaze, his blush radiating like a beacon, but he managed to quip back, “Perhaps, but only if you’ll admit you fell in love with Draco Malfoy.”

Freezing, she stared up at him, the declaration bold and yet…

Entirely true. 

The Unbreakable Vow that had been wrapped dormant around her wrist for all those months flared bright, the warmth of it tingling in a brilliant glow. It was all the proof she needed, wrapped around her wrist for both of them to see.

“I love him,” she whispered, and Theo’s answering grin was bright.

“Go get your wizard!” He nudged her towards the door, clearly happy for her but itching to go after Luna. But then reality crashed over her. If she felt the completion of the vow…

That meant Draco had too. 

And he probably thought it meant that she’d fallen for Theo after Draco had let her go.

Without another word to Theo, she tore out of the room.

Borne by her panic, she sprinted the slight distance to his room, heart in her throat. After several deep breaths, she pounded on the wood, the force of it making the door shake.

In the few seconds between knocks, she rehearsed what she would say.

 _I’ve been so wrong all this time; I thought it was Theo, but it’s you_.

No, that wouldn’t work.

_You’re an utter prat, but I want to kiss you again. I want to keep kissing you until—_

But silence met her; no one came to the door, so she turned, sprinting back to her room.

Theo was gone, the slight smell of burnt Floo powder hanging in the air and signalling her departure, but Hermione didn’t allow herself to smile at the turn of events. Instead, she waved her wand, disillusioning herself as she stepped onto her balcony and Apparated the few feet to his. Then, with another flick of her wrist, the balcony lock clicked open and she stepped in.

She expected him to yell at her, to be angry that she’d barged in or sulk that she’d gone back to Theo after their day together, but none of that greeted her.

The room was empty. Malfoy’s bags were gone. The bed was neatly made, pillows tucked in place as if they’d never been disturbed. Even the sweat on the outsides of the glasses was undisturbed, as though he hadn’t even paused for a drink.

Draco was gone.

She spent the whole of her Sunday morning hiding in her hotel room nursing her wounds. Then, as she packed her bags and made her way to the French Ministry, she again rehearsed what she would say to him.

All of the things she’d realised as she laid in her bed alone the previous night would threaten to spill loose, but he deserved a succinct apology. She _wanted_ to beg him to give her a second chance, to allow her to grovel—and Hermione Granger _never_ grovelled. 

When she arrived at the Ministry, she waited in the opulent corridor outside the Office of Magical Transportation after ensuring he wasn’t inside. She paced back and forth across the fancy tiles, her trainers squeaking beneath yet another faded sundress she’d pulled out of the depths of her closet for the occasion, but he never showed.

Two minutes before the Portkey was set to depart, Blaise arrived, his brow drawn down in a sharp vee. “He’s not coming, Hermione.” Blaise didn’t need to clarify any further, but he stopped in front of her, warring emotions in his eyes. “You really fucked him up.” 

A woman with a severe bob stuck her head out in the corridor, reminding them of their impending departure. The distraction allowed Hermione to duck her head, wiping away the tears that had sprung to her eyes. 

Alone again, she tried to explain, “I didn’t realise—what I mean to say is that I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.” She sniffled, looking away. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Blaise’s countenance softened incrementally in her peripheral vision, and he wrapped her in an awkward, one-armed hug. “Just give him a bit, yeah? You hurt his feelings; he just needs a little time to lick his wounds.”

The woman popped out of the room again, a disapproving frown on her face as she peered down her nose at them “Your Portkey departs in one minute. I should advise you to move along lest you want to go through the paperwork of securing another.” The door slammed behind her. 

Snorting a laugh, Blaise uttered, “Honestly, how a woman who is all but a hundred and fifty centimetres tall can be imposing is beyond me, but we ought to get moving.”

Hermione bolstered herself with a deep breath and nodded, extracting herself from his hold and entering the door, returning to London with a far heavier heart than she’d left it with.

She’d passed the rest of her Sunday evening on her sofa, Crookshanks in her lap. Her familiar had seemed to sense her distress and hadn’t left her side since returning home from Paris. After staring at the bags containing her clothes from the weekend for the better part of an hour, Hermione deemed it a lost cause.

For once, she finally understood Ron’s maxim of putting off what didn’t need done today until tomorrow. 

She’d slept fitfully, and when her alarm roused her at half past seven, she pushed snooze for the first time she could remember. Finally, at a quarter to eight, she heaved herself out of bed, summoned a pair of her old dress trousers and a plain, purple blouse, and Flooed directly into her office.

If she could have her way, she’d hole herself up in there for the entire day, avoiding anyone outside of those four walls.

Deep down, her heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Draco again.

She’d thought about it most of the evening with Crooks in her lap. When he walked in, she would make him sit and listen to her while she explained it all to him. It was rather simple, if she thought about it.

At some point during the months they’d spent together in this office, crafting articles and teasing each other endlessly about one thing or another, she’d fallen for him. She just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

Some part of her allowed that she’d failed to tell him because she was afraid of his reaction; after all, he survived on that playboy image he’d perfected for himself. Another part piped in that she’d initially been anxious over how her friends would react, but none of them were overly large parts of her life. She loved them, and they’d always be family, but they’d grown up and settled into separate careers. 

The biggest part of her admitted that she was scared because Draco Malfoy was everything she wasn’t supposed to want. He was, for all intents and purposes, the antithesis of everything she had worked for and the reason why Davison had forced her to change _Witch Weekly_.

Settling into her chair, Hermione summoned one of the articles buried in the bottom of her work bag, untouched after the long weekend. The scent of the balcony’s tulips washed over her when she opened the bag and a wistful sort of sigh escaped her.

Even as she worked, reading each sentence carefully and marking out what could be cut, her mind continued to wander to Malfoy.

When the clocked ticked over to eight-thirty, she frowned, but she kept on. Nine came and went, but no sign of Draco arrived.

Finally, just as she was about to lean forward and call Daphne in over the intercom, a sharp knock sounded at the door and her friend strode in. “You got a minute?”

Hermione could tell by the drawn expression on her face that the news Daphne bore wouldn’t be good.

Settling her quill beside Luna’s half-edited column on nargle infestations and their influence on political campaigns, Hermione swallowed. “What’s up, Daph?”

The witch ignored her, tucking the folio she was carrying beside her in the chair. “So I had a date with Harry this weekend.”

Brightening, Hermione leaned forward, propping her chin in her open palm. “And how was it?”

Daphne squirmed in her seat, but Hermione didn’t miss the smile she tried to hide. “It was good.” A beat passed before the smile won, and Daphne beamed at her. “It was great. A bit awkward at first because I couldn’t shut up, but he’s just so adorable.” 

Answering Daphne’s smile with her own, Hermione nodded. “He can be, if you’re into that sort of thing.” The callback to Draco’s phrase stung a bit, and her smile slipped.

Daphne noticed, but she ploughed onward, uncharacteristically chatty for the morning. “He took me to dinner and then we went for drinks.” Daphne bounced in her seat, clapping a bit. “And then he kissed me—how dare you not tell me how good of a kisser he is.”

Spluttering, Hermione brushed off her friend’s accusation with a grimace. “Because I’ve never kissed him, Daph. Gods, what has gotten into—”

The Floo roared to life, interrupting Hermione, and suddenly Davison’s face peered out of the embers, unlocked lest Draco decide to come to work that way. “Granger!” 

Daphne blanched, running over to the grate and pressing the lock button, the folio she’d slid beside her in the chair clutched behind her back. She turned wide eyes on Hermione, who stood, approaching her friend with trepidation racing along her spine.

“Daph, what’s going on?” Hermione tried to infuse as much warning into her tone as she could, but it still wavered uncertainly—she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

The Floo began to ring again, but Daphne held the lock button down, refusing to move. “Hermione—just give me a second to explain before you take that call.”

All of her friend’s giddiness had leached away, and a mixture of regret, sadness, and guilt tinged her eyes. The ringing stopped, only to be replaced by another series of peals as Davison tried to buzz through again.

Clearing her throat, Hermione waved at the grate, silencing the ringing and extending her hand. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I need you to hand me that folder and explain before Davison has an apoplectic fit in my Floo,” she warned, a touch firmer than she’d ever been to her friend.

Daphne deflated, removing the folder from behind her back and extending it slowly to her. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I wanted to give you good news before the bad but…” The folder fell open in Hermione’s hand, the cover of _La Sorcière de Paris_ staring back at her.

It wasn’t the beautiful actress staring back at her that made her heart plummet to the depths of her stomach. It wasn’t even the wealth of articles featured on the front that sparked a flare of jealousy at the magazine’s success.

It was a byline, about five centimetres in length, that made her want to cry.

 _Draco Malfoy, special contributor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I just couldn't help it; I had to make sure Theo didn't end up hurt. So, in the end, they're both just sorely mislead... and Theo is (to quote my wonderful beta) a kumquat lol. But he gets a happy ending! I hope you enjoyed this chapter; the final(!) will be up on Wednesday!
> 
> also HUGE shoutout to my beta, In_Dreams, on this chapter because she had to correct my tense when I suddenly decided to write the entirety of this chapter in PRESENT TENSE for reasons unbeknowst to me. She is a god send and I'm incredibly grateful for her! My alphas, LadyKenz347 and mcal, are both incredible human beans! Drop what you're doing and go love on their fics!


	12. Absolutely Mental

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, I got this chapter back from my lovely beta and couldn't wait until Wednesday to post. So happy Sunday!

**Chapter 12:** **_Absolutely Mental_ **

Seeing Draco’s name scrawled beneath an article title in French was a slap to the face.

Not only did the lack of professional tact make her want to scream, but the total disregard for her dislike of Giselle sent such a flare of rage through Hermione that she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. 

Draco  _ sodding  _ Malfoy.

Nevermind that he’d likely taken one of the articles  _ she’d  _ edited for him to that  _ harpy _ , but he’d done so the day after he’d snogged her to within an centimetre of her life and then _ left  _ without fighting for her.

Red-hot fury boiled up inside her as she snatched the periodical up, glaring down at his name. 

“When did this hit the shelves?” she seethed, a flick of her wand already summoning her briefcase and jacket.

Daphne spluttered, watching her fly about her office in a fit of rage. “I only just got it. I wanted to talk to you about Harry yesterday, but your Floo was locked and you didn’t answer my owls…” The witch trailed off, voice growing smaller. “I didn’t want you to find out from someone else, and I thought I’d soften the blow with some good news first.”

A pang of regret flashed through Hermione—an emotion she was becoming incredibly too familiar with—and she paused in her frantic summoning, facing her friend fully. “I appreciate it, Daph. I really do.” Crossing the room and throwing her arms around her friend, she whispered, “And I’m so happy for you and Harry.” She pulled back, hands wrapping firmly around Daphne’s forearms. “I promise we’ll have a girls’ day to discuss this all properly when we’re back.”

Daphne sniffed, nodding once, and she held up the glossy magazine cover. “And this?”

Lips flattening into a thin line, Hermione sighed. “Draco and I had a misunderstanding, and it seems like he’s not willing to confront it head on.  _ Slytherins _ ,” she muttered, shooting an apologetic smile at Daphne’s noise of protest. “You know I’ve always thought of you as more of a Claw than a snake.” 

Daphne harrumphed at her, but helped Hermione gather the remainder of her belongings. Settling Hermione’s coat in the crook of her arm, Daphne asked, “What are you going to do?”

The short answer was Hermione didn’t know, but she shrugged, picking up her briefcase and smiling wanly at her friend. “If I said ream Draco Malfoy’s arse, would it be too harsh?”

The question earned her a short laugh. “Given that?” Daphne gestured at the magazine Hermione clasped. “Not at all, but—” She aimed a sympathetic look at Hermione, an expression Hermione knew all too well. “Maybe give him some slack. He’s heartbroken, after all.”

Breath catching in her throat, Hermione turned away. “Daph, don’t get my—”

“It’s true, though,” Daphne answered, following her to the door of her office. “I wasn’t kidding when I said it looked like the two of  _ you  _ had fallen in love. Not you and Theo.” Daphne shook her head. “I’ve known Draco for a long time—after Hogwarts, he dated Tori. Asked her to marry him, even.”

The information shocked Hermione; she assumed news like that would have been all over the seedier tabloids.

“Tori never was good at exclusivity, especially not when it came to getting what she really wanted. When she finally got Marcus back, she left Draco.” The witch paused. “I had never seen him so shattered before, but this—running away, making less than desirable locale changes no matter how it would benefit his career—this is classic heartbroken Draco Malfoy.”

That… was incredibly insightful. Clearing her throat, she faced her friend. “So you’re saying he loves me… because you know what he’s like in love?” When Daphne nodded, Hermione groaned, wishing she had a free hand to ring her friend’s neck. “Hey, Daph?”

“Yeah?”

“You get to deal with Davison for not telling me that,” she quipped, then added, “Next time you have a secret that could alter my love life, do you mind sharing?” Turning on her heel, Hermione strode across the lobby to the elevator.

Daphne’s echoing laughter followed her into the lift, the resumed ringing of her Floo the last noise she heard as she zipped downwards.

After a two-hour long argument with Avonlea, a terrible trip to France using a piece of old bubble gum wrapped in paper—a gift, she was sure, for making Avonlea give her an emergency Portkey—and an unexpected rainstorm, Hermione stormed into  _ La Sorcière de Paris _ ’s main office.

It was ridiculously posh, reminiscent of Hôtel Plaza Athénée in its swanky white and gold furniture. No less than six receptionists— _ six!  _ Honestly why in Merlin’s name would they need that many?—minded the front desk, each of them flipping through copies of the periodical.

Hermione’s shoes squelched as she crossed the floor to the desk, drawing their attention as she dripped rainwater all over the pristine entryway. Finally, she drew to a halt, depositing her briefcase with a sickening smack on the countertop. 

After clearing her throat and throwing back her shoulders, she said, “If you could be so kind as to point me to the loo, that would be lovely.”

The left-most receptionist rolled her eyes, aiming her file towards a hallway just off the main entrance. In a heavy French accent dripping with disdain, she responded. “Up ze stairs. To the right. It will be ze first door on ze left.”

Nodding her thanks, Hermione squeaked across the floor, holding her last thread of dignity tight as she disappeared through the door and deposited her sopping bag on the counter.

She’d never believed in karma before this weekend, but something out there had it in for her bad.

As quickly as she could, Hermione dried herself with her wand. By the time she was done, her clothes were dried though slightly stiff, and her hair was a ball of frizz. 

Swearing to herself, she ran her hands under the faucet, using some of the water to soothe the manic curls that haloed around her head. One last glance in the mirror proved that it was as good as she’d be able to get, and she summoned her briefcase as she marched out of the loo, wiping her damp hands on her trousers. 

She’d only just exited the loo when the door to the conference hall opposite opened, a small brunette witch flitting through while a familiar voice trickled out.

Giselle, her French rapid and animated.

With another curse, Hermione paused, casting a quick translation charm so she could understand the woman’s words.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware, we have a new staff writer joining us.” Smatters of applause punctuated her statement, and Hermione crept to the nearest window, trying to peek between the curtains. “He’s signed on for a quick two-article tester to see how well he gets on here, but given the response to his first, I think he’ll be right at home. Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Monsieur Draco Malfoy.”

Before she could convince herself that the proper way to go about this whole thing was to wait until after the meeting to snag Malfoy and shout at him in the privacy—or, well,  _ relative  _ privacy of the loos—she shot upright, marching to the door and wrenching it open.

“How dare you?” she spat, all eyes turning toward her. 

Draco had half risen from his seat, his eyes rounding as she stormed in, alternating her glare between him and Giselle.

The woman in question lifted her shoulder delicately. “I thought the deal was off the table until I received an owl from Monsieur Malfoy yesterday morning, stating that he had reconsidered my suggestion.” Her expression was very much that of the cat who ate the canary, but Hermione turned from her, ignoring the whispering that had erupted around the table.

“And  _ you _ ,” she seethed, uninhibited by his flinch at her tone. “How could you  _ do  _ this? You know how important  _ Witch Weekly  _ is to me. You know what Davison will do if our numbers go back down.” The emotion clawing at her throat made her voice crack, and she was dismayed by the tears that threatened. “We needed you.” A deep breath. “ _ I  _ needed you.”

But Draco didn’t respond, staring owlishly at her while his jaw worked. Finally he landed on, “That’s rich. You need me because I’m the only ticket to keeping your job.” 

Scoffing, she rounded the table, jabbing her finger in his chest. “I don’t even want to hear it, Malfoy.  _ You  _ took the job gleefully when you figured out it would be me you’d get to torment.”

“Oh, we’re back to surnames now?” His eyes blew wide and incredulous. “ _ I  _ took the job because  _ we  _ made a deal.” He rubbed at his wrist absently. “Which, in case you hadn’t noticed, both of us made good on. End of deal, end of partnership.” He turned away, aiming an apologetic grimace at Giselle and her team.

Anger flaring, she grabbed his elbow, forcing his attention back on her. “I don’t give a hypogriff’s arse about the bloody business deal. If I did, I wouldn’t be here!” Her breath gusted out of her in giant puffs, desperately close to losing the remaining hold she held on her temper. “I care about  _ you _ !” 

The declaration stalled his argument for only a minute before the skin around his eyes pulled taught, an ugly sneer marring his beautiful features. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe that, Granger. I felt the Unbreakable Vow signal its fulfillment, saw it flare with my own eyes, right after you went back into your room with Nott. Presumably mid-shag.” 

Throwing her hands up, Hermione shouted back, “I wasn’t shagging Nott, you insufferable, pompous prat. I was telling him that I’d fallen in love with  _ you! _ ”

Stunned gasps sounded around the table, the witches and wizards obviously having cast their own translation charms to eavesdrop on Hermione and Draco’s argument. Her declaration left her chest heaving, disbelief transforming her own expression into shock.

After a moment, Draco finally responded, tipping his nose to the ceiling. “I am not insufferable.” 

A disbelieving laugh huffed from her lips as she released her hold on his arm, eyelids closing in defeat. “I just told you I loved you and all you heard me say was that you’re insufferable.”

But then he was there, stepping into her space, and she allowed her gaze to latch onto his. “You love me,” he said, studying her. “Why?”

Holding her breath, she allowed her hands to rise up, settling on his chest. She thought for a moment, vacillating between a sarcastic response to get a rise out of him and the truth. In the end, though, she settled on, “Because you saw me. The  _ real  _ me. Even when I tried my best to be anyone but who I really am.”

The same, quirked half-smile—the one she’d realised he reserved just for her—met her declaration. “You’re an absolute swot, and your fashion sense is atrocious without help—” She swatted his chest playfully, unable to wipe the stupid smirk from her face. Catching her hand in his, he finished his statement. “But I’ve had you figured out for a long time, and I’ve always liked what I saw.” 

This time, it was Hermione who closed the distance between them, pressing her lips softly to his. He quickly deepened the kiss, and it was only the hoots and clapping that broke out from the other journalists that broke them apart. His hand snaked up between them, allowing his thumb to trace over her bottom lip as he whispered, “You’re absolutely  _ mental _ , but I love you too.” 

Clearing his throat, Draco turned to Giselle. “I’ll get you the second article, but I’ll uh—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be returning to  _ Witch Weekly _ . Permanently.” 

**Six Months Later**

“Granger!” The front door slammed shut, Crooks abandoning his post by her hip to greet Malfoy. 

“In here!” she answered. She was lounging on her bed— _ their  _ bed—enjoying a lazy afternoon for once. Malfoy had taken the articles she’d edited into the office, and they had plans for dinner later that evening.

It was nice, normal, and she didn’t often bother to scramble to change out of the faded pyjama bottoms she wore—mostly because they were his.

Today, though, she did. 

Leaping off the bed, Hermione shed the baggy pyjama bottoms and old t-shirt, readjusting the lingerie she’d slipped on just after he’d left that morning.

She’d just arranged herself on the bed in the most enticing manner she could while still holding her book upright in a picture of innocence when he padded down the hall, his high-pitched Crookshanks-voice announcing his approach.

“I know, buddy. She just lies about all day and doesn’t give you any—sweet mother of Merlin.” Crookshanks hit the floor with a squawk of protest that had Hermione’s shoulders shaking with laughter. 

Peeking over her shoulder, she eyed him, his gaze firmly planted on the smooth expanse of her back. “Oh, hi. I didn’t hear you come in.” 

A wicked smile curved his lips and he entered the room, deftly nudging Crooks out with his toe, much to the half-kneazel’s displeasure. He slowly approached the bed, unknotting his tie. “Hmm, do you often lie on the bed in your knickers when I’m not home?”

Laughing, she turned back to her book, pretending to read a paragraph and lazily flipping the page before she responded, “Nope,” with a pop of the  _ p _ . “Do you always wear a tie to work when I don’t accompany you?”

His hand landed on the small of her back, slowly tracing the valley of it down until he reached the line of her knickers. “Only when I’m finalising the acquisition of a long-running periodical and know the  _ Prophet  _ will have their reporters waiting for me.” Ever so gently, he slipped his thumbs beneath the band of her knickers, kneading the flesh there.

“Shame,” she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back until her hair tickled her shoulder blades, reveling in the feel of his touch. “I’d hoped that you’d get back into the habit of wearing those.” 

He shifted behind her, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder blades. “And why is that?”

“It’d go to your head if I told you that it added to your appeal, so I’ll go with adding it to the list of things you can try in the bedroom,” she quipped, infusing as much cheek as she could into the statement even though she could barely focus through the haze his fingers were infusing.

She shifted, arching so he could lave his tongue over the spot he’d learned drove her crazy over the last few months. 

“Lovegood says hi.”

Rolling, she stared up at him, watching his eyes dilate as he took her in. “Nott.”

“Why are you talking about your ex-boyfriend when you’re in bed with me?” he breathed, unable to tear his gaze away.

Laughing, she reached up, pulling him down to her. “She’s a Nott now—you know that.”

But he captured her lips, silencing her with a muttered, “Semantics, witch.” Their kisses were breathless, lingering embraces that kindled the inferno he stoked in her every time. 

Divulging him of his clothes, she lost herself in him, swallowing each groan he emitted at the touch of her hands, the scrape of her nails down the expanse of his pale skin. He pulled away long enough to promise her a thousand more sets of the knickers he’d bought her and vanished them with a snap of his fingers. 

When he buried himself in her with a harsh exhale of her name, Hermione wondered how she’d ever thought it could be anyone else.

Rolling, she settled atop him, slowly grinding herself against him as he stared up at her in awe. A constellation of scars marred his chest—the remnants of the war not so long ago—but she didn’t mind, tracing her fingers over them as she leaned down. “You’re staring.”

His fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, driving into her with a grunt. “That’s allowed now.” 

The laugh that escaped her turned into a drawn out moan when he rolled his hips into her again, warmth radiating outward. “Hmm, I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder when you make me edit some of those terrible articles.” 

He punctuated his protestations with another sharp thrust. “I just do it to watch you bite your lip.” He winked as he rolled her again, pulling out and arranging her on her knees before him. “Saucy little minx.” 

When his hand fisted in her hair and he drove back into her, Hermione was lost for words. Hands settling into the curve of her waist, Draco leveraged himself against her, setting a quick pace that quickly sent her over the edge with a shout of his name and something like he was a god.

She’d never admit  _ that  _ though.

He quickly followed her over the edge with a grunt of her name, and when he collapsed over top of her, they laid there in silence. After a moment, he finally asked, “So I’m a god?”

Cheeks heating, she swatted his chest. “I have no idea what you mean.” Trying to roll away from him, she groaned a throaty laugh when he pulled out and pinned her wrists above her head.

“Oh yeah?” Draco hummed, leaning into her. “That’s what it  _ sounded  _ like.” When she motioned a lock of her lips and throwing away the key, he smiled down at her, his expression brightening. “You certainly looked comfortable,” he murmured in her ear, the warmth of his breath fanning over her and eliciting goose bumps along her flesh again.

“Mmm, that’s because I was.” She turned beneath him, propping her legs up on either side of his body. “How was the office?”

He traced her cheek, smirking down at her. “It took longer than I anticipated to drop everything off, what with all of Colin’s questions about the acquisition.” He rolled his eyes. “Once I got everything to Daph, it was smooth sailing.” 

Hermione caught his hand, pulling him down on top of her, humming as he peppered kisses over her cheeks. “Colin’s been a tough sell on a Malfoy buying us out of Davison’s contract, but I think he’ll come around.” Tilting her chin to allow Draco access to her neck, she shivered, eyes popping open to admire the ring sparkling on her left hand. “Though he’ll have to get used to it since a Malfoy will be editor-in-chief.” 

She felt his lips quirk up in a smile against her pulse point before he lifted her, his hands on her bum encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that from you, Granger.”

Sighing happily, she pressed a kiss to the bottom of his jaw. “Won’t be able to call me that much longer, will you?” 

It was a routine they’d fallen into lately. He’d call her Granger, she’d remind him of their impending nuptials, and then they’d fall into bed for a second time.

But it didn’t matter to her.

That was the only kind of scripting she was okay with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! It's a bit bittersweet because I did love writing this story so much, but you all have made it such a wonderful experience. Seriously, all the love this fic has gotten was a little overwhelming, but I'm so grateful to all of you who have reviewed it as we went along and even those who didn't feel comfortable reviewing but still read each installment. I looked forward to updating this fic more than any other I've written, and it was largely because you were all so kind and encouraging. It was a silly little romance, but it's become of one of my favorite things I've written—even with the soppy tropes. 
> 
> Endless thank yous to my amazing alphas and friends, LadyKenz347 and mcal, who helped me polish this fic and point out where I could strengthen different aspects. I'm so appreciative of your time, support, and friendship; you both are truly gems in this fandom, and I'm incredibly lucky to have you.
> 
> A billion beta hearts to In_Dreams, who is one of the best people I've ever had the pleasure of working with in this fandom! Seriously, I'm still awestruck that one of my favorite authors has become my friend and has worked on my words haha, but I'm grateful that working together on this and Nocturnus has helped us develop a stronger friendship! And if you haven't started reading Noct yet, you really do need to hop on over there and check it out, because she's writing the next big Dramione classic. Calling it now.
> 
> Until next time, my friends! Thanks for joining me!

**Author's Note:**

> **This fic is twelve chapters long, and eight and a half of them are already written. Updates will be once a week on Friday evenings (I just got excited lol).**


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